Fight For Her
by ravenbard
Summary: Post "Sexy" episode. Santana, still reeling from her encounter with Brittany, gets a sound piece of advice from the last person she expects. From there, new friendships are forged and more songs are sung. However, will Santana get Brittany back?
1. Broken

**TITLE – **Fight For Her

**RATING **– M for language

**PAIRING – **Brittany/Santana

**SYNOPSIS – **Post "Sexy" episode. Santana, still reeling from her encounter with Brittany, gets a sound piece of advice from the last person she expects. From there, new friendships are forged and more songs are sung. However, will Santana get Brittany back?

**A/N – **The stream of fan fiction that bombarded the internet after this week's episode is totally unsurprising. Writing is an outlet for many to vent and deal with emotions that are sometimes simply too overwhelming. The last Santittany/Brittana scene in the episode "Sexy" was just goddamn painful and I still wince just thinking about it. Hence, I'm going to deal with it by writing this story. Like it or hate it, it's up to you. A word of caution though, I like writing angst so this is not going to be an easy read. You have been warned. Enjoy.

**Chapter 1 - Broken**

"_Please say you love me back. __**Please**__."_

"_Of course I love you, I do. And I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie."_

"_Artie?"_

"_I love him too...I don't' want to hurt him! It's not right; I can't break up with him…"_

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Santana bolted down the halls of McKinley High, tears streaming down her face. Brittany's words chased after her, personal demons that now hounded her, nipping at her heels as she tried so desperately to evade them. Her vision swam and her eyes burned with the torrents of salty tears that welled and spilled wetly onto pale taut cheeks. Oblivious to the curious stares she was attracting from the small company of students that still littered the hallway, Santana continued running until she encountered the girls' bathroom. Throwing open the door viciously, it slammed against the wall so hard, the sound that reverberated around the small bathroom was akin to a gunshot. It was just as quickly kicked shut again by the Latina who then barely managed to shoulder her way into the nearest cubicle before her stomach rebelled and twisted in on itself, forcing up its contents up Santana's throat.

It hurt. The bile felt like acid as it flooded her throat, scorching it with cruel intent and her gag reflex joined in sadistically by pushing up seemingly undigested portions of her meager lunch in a manner that caused each one to scrape violently against her windpipe. Almost choking, Santana reached up to grip either side of the toilet in an attempt to curb the spasms that wracked her body even as her stomach continued to empty itself. So lost in her emotional and physical misery, the Latina failed to notice a figure slip into the cubicle with her, kneel down slightly behind her and gather back clumps of matted hair that stuck to her face.

A few minutes ticked by with neither person speaking nor acknowledging the other as Santana continued to dry heave. Finally, a tired hand reached up to gather a wad of toilet paper. Wiping her mouth, Santana then tossed it into the toilet before dropping down the toilet lid and depressing the flush. For the first time she noticed that she wasn't alone and turned around.

Rachel Berry knelt behind her, a pensive look on her normally cheerful face. Santana growled instinctively, a sub-vocal noise that vibrated in the back of her throat. She immediately regretted it as the action caused her abused throat to protest. Massaging it, she swallowed experimentally and was surprised when Rachel reached behind her to produce a bottle of water.

"Thanks," Santana muttered. Unscrewing the cap, she paused to lift up the toilet lid again before using the first few mouthfuls to rinse out the sour taste in her mouth. Flushing the toilet for the second time, she took a few tentative sips from the bottle. The water that slid down her throat was cold and crisp; it soothed out the stinging generated by her body's actions early and for that, she was grateful.

"What are you doing here, Berry?" Santana's voice was hoarse, raspy from the damage her vomiting had inflicted on it. The Latina eyed the petite diva, wariness staining the brown of her eyes.

"I saw what happened," Rachel replied. Her voice was soft though it held an indecipherable tone that Santana immediately disliked.

"So what? Have you come here to gloat? You want to see the great Santana Lopez all broken and sniveling in the bathroom? Is this payback for all the times I've slushied you, insulted you?" Santana was on a rant and despite the fact that it was Rachel who had come to her aid not mere seconds ago, the Latina reverted back to what she always did when she felt threatened or exposed: she lashed out. "Well, go ahead! Do your worst. Hit me, insult me, I could give a flying fuck! Because you can't hurt me anymore than _she_ already has."

The last words were clearly the finally straw because the instant they were spat out of her mouth, Santana broke down. Dropping the water bottle on the floor, she crumbled in on herself and drew her knees up to her chest before wrapping her arms around her legs. Sobs shook her lanky frame as the Latina dissolved into gut wrenching tears.

Rachel moved cautiously, aware that she was walking on a very fragile tightrope. Making a split second decision, Rachel reached over and pulled the Latina into her arms. She wasn't surprised when Santana fought her, pushing at her shoulders but her emotional state siphoned her of her energy and she could only flail against Rachel for scant seconds before she gave up and fell into the petite brunette's embrace.

Rachel held Santana as she cried. She managed to maneuver them until it was her back that was pressed against the cubicle divider and Santana was curled up between her legs. The petite diva bit her lip as Santana sobbed, her tears soaking the material of Rachel's argyle sweater. She wound one hand around the Latina's back, gently stroking it whilst the other found purchase in Santana's dark locks. Gently sifting her fingers through her teammate's hair, Rachel began humming under her breath. It was a Jewish lullaby, mean to soothe and calm an infant but the diva hoped it would blanket Santana and bring her obvious agony to a dull throb.

Santana had no idea how long they were in the bathroom together, sitting on the questionably sanitary bathroom floor but Rachel never said a word. She was silent against Santana, merely humming a strangely calming tune even as she rocked the Latina back and forth gently. The former cheerleader had managed to quell her crying to mere hiccups and the occasional sniffle when she gently but insistently wormed her way out of Rachel's embrace to sit opposite her. She stared at her fellow teammate through puffy red-rimmed eyes.

"Why?"

Rachel started, clearly not expecting the sudden noise. She looked up into Santana's face, her heart jerking in sympathy at the tear tracks, the bloodshot eyes and the broken look that was blatantly stamped across the girl's face. "Why, what?" Rachel asked.

Santana sniffed. "Why are you being so nice to me? After all the times I tormented you, teased you and instead of taking advantage of this situation, here you are comforting me." She looked hard into Rachel's chocolate eyes. "Why?"

Rachel ran a restless hand through her hair. "I've been bullied my entire life, Santana." She internally winced at the flash of guilt that flickered across the Latina's eyes. "I know firsthand how painful it is and I have no wish to retaliate the same way."

Santana nodded though she was still wary of the odd situation. She allowed the curtain of silence to drop over them as she struggled to reign in the overwhelming tide of emotions that were threatening to pull her under. However, just recalling her encounter with Brittany had her eyes filling up with tears again and despite her attempts to curb them, they dropped unbidden on her cheeks, scattering fresh droplets to cling onto her wet eyelashes.

Rachel sighed and scooted forward a little, frowning as Santana tensed up in reaction. "I won't hurt you, Santana." When the former cheerleader's shoulders relaxed again, she continued. "Look, I'm not even going to try to say that I know how you feel. I just want to give you some advice."

"I don't think you're in a position to give anyone advice, Berry." The words were out of Santana's mouth before she could help herself, a verbal volley of bullets that made Rachel flinch. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to force an apology from her lips but they remained silent and stubborn.

Rachel sighed again, a deep sigh that was increasingly uncharacteristic because it was not dramatic or impatient. Instead, there was an air of defeat about it and it was so tangible that Santana wanted to kick herself for hurting the one person that was offering her solace. However, her pride was a solid brick wall, preventing her from moving neither limb nor tongue. After a few seconds of now tense silence, Santana heard Rachel get up and swing open the cubicle door. The Latina heard the diva's penny loafers shuffle a few steps before stopping.

"Santana." Rachel's voice was heavy, drowning in something that the Latina could not place a finger on. There was also an unspoken command that came with the saying of the Latina's name that demanded Santana's attention. "Sometimes, when you love someone, the only thing you can do is to let them go."

Santana felt tears squeeze out from the corners of her tightly shut eyes and she balled her hands into fists, her manicured nails digging painfully into her palms. The pain was an anchor that Santana clutched onto with sheer desperation. "What if I can't, Rachel?" Saying the diva's first name sounded so foreign to her ears and it rolled quite uncomfortably off her tongue as her lips struggled to form the name. She forced her eyes open to see Rachel standing outside the cubicle, an unreadable expression on her face. "What if I can't let her go?" Santana's voice, raspy and bruised from the battery of feelings that had punched a solid hole through her heart, cracked at the at the last word.

Rachel looked at Santana sitting on the floor of a bathroom cubicle, appearing more broken and lost than she had ever seen the former cheerleader. A lone tear drifted lazily from Rachel's eye, meandering a slow path down the girl's cheek. Seeing a normally headstrong and seemingly invincible girl looking like she had lost her entire world was almost too much for the petite brunette. Her eyes sought the Latina's and twin pairs of similarly dark eyes locked onto each other with vivid intensity as Rachel finally said:

"Then fight for her, Santana."

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	2. Picking Up The Pieces

**A/N -** I took some liberties with Santana's family background so it doesn't follow canon.

**Chapter 2 – Picking Up The Pieces**

_**One Week Later**_

Santana was curled up in bed, wrapped in a hoodie that Brittany had left behind. Everywhere the Latina looked, remnants of Brittany could be found. A hairbrush on the vanity, the odd t-shirt in her closet, a pair of sandals by the door; even in the sanctuary of her own room, Brittany continued to pervade her.

A week. It had been a week. Seven solid days had come and gone since Santana had confessed her love to Brittany in the very public hallway of McKinley High. And Brittany's reply had nearly destroyed her. The day after, the Latina could not bring herself to go to school. Feigning the flu, she had confined herself to her room, alternating between stony depression and uncontrollable sobs.

Now, as she lay amongst the covers a week later, she still felt the pangs in her heart. They were sharp and vivid, plucking a now well-practiced tune of sorrow over Santana's heartstrings. The brunette wondered if it was possible to die of heartache; the pain was almost too much to bear. Burrowing into the hoodie, she allowed tears to trickle down her cheeks and Brittany's scent to envelope her as the poignant melancholy notes of _Landslide_, whispered out from her stereo speakers as it had done for the past seven days.

_I took my love and I took it down_

_Climbed a mountain and turned around_

_And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills_

Santana looked up at that lyric. Turning her head slightly, she paused as her eyes froze on the vanity mirror. A haunted girl stared back at her, eyes so hollow and devoid of life that they dulled the coffee color of her eyes. It was akin to staring into empty pits that had no end. Dark smudges smeared the underside of those eyes, the discoloration so dark and stark that they bordered on becoming bruises. Her cheeks were concaved, pale under her naturally tan coloring and her hair hung limply on either side of a gaunt face. Santana looked away; in less than a week, any trace of a cocky, confident Santana had been erased only to be replaced by this empty shell. She turned her attention back to the music.

_Well I've been afraid of changin'_

_Cuz I, built my life around you_

Santana's lips emitted a small whimper as her mind assaulted her with the memories of her, Ms. Holliday and Brittany performing that song in front of the Glee Club. Clutching a pillow to her chest, she tried to block out the images to no avail.

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_The steady strum of the guitar propped on Ms. Holliday's lap wrapped Santana in layers of uncertainty and mellowness. The song was a perfect conduit to showing Brittany how she felt but the next lines that were coming up had internally spun Santana into such a fit of panic that she could barely choke out the words._

Well I've been afraid of changin'

_Santana's eyes sought out Brittany's, her coffee gaze falling into twin pools of cobalt blue. Brittany stared back at her, unwillingly or unable to look away as the song hummed around them. There was such an intensity in Brittany's eyes that Santana had to fight her instinctive urge to bolt._

Cuz I, built my life around you

_Santana tore her eyes away from Brittany, unable to face the blonde upon singing these words. Brittany would never know just how true this lyric was to Santana; for as long as the Latina knew, she was around Brittany. Everything Brittany wanted, Santana would fight tooth and nail to give. Every time Brittany was sad, Santana would move heaven and earth just to put a smile back on that angelic face. The song continued, the almost lethargic twang of the guitar lulling Santana into a tangled messy web of emotions that wrapped barbwires around her already battered heart. As the Latina turned a stoic gaze onto her fellow Glee teammates, she tried conjuring up a memory that did not include the tall blonde. _

_She failed._

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A knock on the door, pulled Santana out of her reverie. She looked up, the broken expression on her face morphing into one of genuine shock and surprise as she saw her older brother's head pop in between the ajar door and the doorframe.

"Tomas?"

Tomas, a nicely toned man with a mop of curls falling haphazardly over his forehead, smiled tentatively as he walked into the room. He closed the door quietly behind him and strode over to his baby sister. Gathering her into his arms, he wrapped strong, supple arms around her, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

"_Hermana_." It was a such a simple word really. Sister. However, the way Tomas said it, with such loving affection and undisguised concern that it became the sledgehammer that shattered all of Santana's defenses.

Her thin veneer of self-control cracked and her tears started anew. Twisting in the cradle of her brother's arms, she burrowed her head into his shoulder, her sobs wracking a multitude of spasms across her already shaking frame.

Tomas instinctively tightened his hold on Santana as the girl broke down. Worry marred his gaze as he deposited kiss after kiss into Santana's hair. One hand pressed firmly onto her bowed back, hugging the weeping girl closer to his chest. "It's ok, Santi. It's ok." The five words became a mantra, one that Tomas kept whispering into his sister's ear. He didn't expect a response, he simply said those words to console his baby sister, to let her know that he was there for her. "Shh…it's ok."

The minutes trickled by, drizzling into one another until they blurred into a void where time held no sway for the embracing siblings. Time simply became a spectator, watching enviously as Tomas rocked Santana back and forth, murmuring words of comfort into his sister's ear.

An hour had passed when Santana's cries finally subsided. However, she made no move to break out of the warm cradle of her brother's arms, nor did she relinquish the firm grasp her hands had on the front of his shirt. "When did you get here, T?" Santana winced as the words clawed up her throat; it felt as though each syllable were nails that wound its way up to her mouth sideways. She swallowed, hoping to salvage the damage inflicted on her windpipe.

Tomas began a slow rubbing of Santana's back, his hands moving in slow circular motions. It was an action that had calmed down Santana since birth. "A few minutes ago." A short pause. "Mama called me."

Santana snorted. Her mother had _called_ her big brother to come all the way from Boston just so she wouldn't have to deal with her own daughter? Yeah, that sounded like her mother. "Typical mama. She could never deal with any problems in this fuckin' house," Santana spat out, accompanying the words with barking out a harsh laugh.

Tomas shook her gently but firmly. "Don't." The tone in his voice brooked no argument. "She may not be perfect, but she's our mother. Don't bad mouth her, Santana." He unwound one hand from Santana's back only to reach up to cup her face, forcing the girl to look into his eyes. "Speaking of problems..." Dark eyes regarded Santana intently. "Talk to me, _hermana_. Tell me what's going on."

Santana sighed and wriggled out of her brother's arms to sit next to him. Propping herself on her pillow, she leaned against the headboard, eyes tracing an invisible line across the ceiling as she contemplated her choice of words. "I told Brittany I loved her," she finally blurted out. Then she stiffened when she realized that not only had she confessed to her brother that she was in love with her best friend but that her best friend was a _girl_. She flinched when she felt Tomas' arm drape across her shoulders. Thinking that her brother was disgusted with her she let loose a volley of apologies. "I'm sorry, _hermano_! I'm sorry!" Tears choked her words and she blinked furiously in an attempt to stop a fresh coating of tears that were clouding her vision even as she waited for her brother's verbal rebuttal.

The girl was therefore puzzled and more than a little hurt when a quiet chuckle emerged from behind her. She turned incredulous eyes onto her big brother. "Did you…did you just _laugh_?"

Tomas saw a glimmer of the old Santana, the one that called upon fire and fury and made them her own personal slaves. He attempted to shift his face into a neutral expression but failed when his lips split further open, his mirth bubbling over his tongue and out of his mouth. "Oh, Santi, I'm sorry!" He hiccupped as he tried to contain his laughter then exercised every ounce of his self-control when he saw the murderous look on his sister's face. Schooling his features into a more docile mask, he scooted closer to his sister and ran a finger down her cheek. "I've known that all along," he whispered conspiratorially .

"What?" Santana's eyes bulged as she attempted to internalize what her brother said. She shook her head as if clearing her ears of water, sure that she had heard wrong.

Tomas smiled and cupped her cheek; eyes softening as Santana instinctively leaned into his palm, her eyes closing in reaction to the loving touch. After their parents' divorce, the siblings had turned to each for comfort. Tomas, being a good ten years older than Santana, had taken the little girl under his wing, protecting her, comforting her and being the big brother that everybody envied. "Do you remember what you said to me the very first day you came back from your new kindergarten?"

Santana opened her eyes, shooting her brother a befuddled look before shaking her head.

Tomas smiled and threw his arm around Santana, tugging her closer to him. "Well let's see...you started school on our second week in Lima and when I went to pick you up…"

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"_TOMAS!" _

_Tomas almost choked on his burrito as he heard his name being bellowed out from amongst a sea of pint-sized children that ambled out the front gates of the school. Straightening up from leaning against the car door, he coughed a few more times to dislodge the wedge of meat that he had accidently inhaled before turning to scrutinize the chattering crowd in front of him. _

_Santana pushed and prodded her way out from the crowd, her _Scooby Doo_ lunch box swinging from one hand and her school bag dragging behind her on the other hand. She spotted her brother and gave a delighted shriek before launching herself into his waiting arms._

_Tomas laughed as a little dark blur all but jumped onto him. Twirling her around, he earned appreciative and charmed smiles from parents around him as he enjoyed this moment with his baby sister. "Hey, _hermana_," Tomas drawled out as he put the little girl back down on her feet. "Ready to go?" He turned briefly to open the passenger door, swipe his half eaten burrito from the roof of the car before ushering Santana into her seat. Before he could close the door, however, Santana had wrangled his snack from his hand and proceed to take a big bite out of it, laughing at the look on his face. He shook his head and shut the door before moving to the other side of the car and getting behind the wheel. "That's my lunch, firecracker. The least you could do was say 'please'."_

"_Pwease!" Santana parroted around a mouthful of meat and cheese. _

_Tomas rolled his eyes as he started the engine. Then he turned to Santana. "Anywhere in particular you wanna go today, Santi?"_

_Santana cocked her head for a moment then shook her head. "Not really. Home?"_

_Tomas looked taken aback. Ever since the impending divorce, Santana hated to be in the house, especially when both parents were under its roof. Now, here she was, volunteering to go home? "Firecracker," he began. "Are you ok?" He resisted the urge to clap a hand over her forehead to check for a fever._

_Santana nodded, her eyes misting over slightly. "I'm happy, Tomas."_

_The teenage boy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "You are?"_

_Santana nodded eagerly. "Yup, cuz I met this girl with the most _beautiful_ blue eyes in my class today!" _

_Tomas lifted an eyebrow that disappeared beneath a sea of curls. "You did?"_

_Santana nodded again; the tiny brunette fairly vibrated in her seat as she began regaling her first day in kindergarten. "There was this mean boy that was throwing sand over this girl in the sandbox. So I slapped him in the face and he cried!"_

"_Hey, you shouldn't be hitting people, Santana." His voice held a note of disapproval._

_Santana pouted up at him. "But he was being mean."_

_Tomas ran an affectionate hand over the little girl's head. "Yes, but you still shouldn't hit people, Santi. It's not right, ok?" _

_Santana scowled. "'K," she muttered dejectedly. _

_Tomas chucked her under the chin and grinned when a smiled tugged up the corners of the little girl's lips. "So go on then. What happened next?"_

"_Well the boy ran away and I talked to the girl. Her name is Brittany." A soft look crossed Santana's face at the mention of this girl's name. "She's really pretty, Tomas. Her hair is all blonde and shiny, and she smells like strawberries!"_

_Tomas bit his lip against the cuteness of it all. Here was his baby sister, so obviously crushing on another _girl and she didn't even know it_! He didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. So instead, he started backing the car out of the parking lot. "Let's go for ice cream, Santi. You can tell me more then." The teenage boy nearly crashed into a parked car when he heard Santana's next words._

"_I'm going to marry her."_

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Santana stared at her brother, her mouth hanging open. "You're lying," she croaked out finally. She narrowed her eyes at the grinning man. "Right? Tell me you're kidding," she begged weakly, mortified that her five-year-old self could be so crass.

Tomas shook his head. "Sorry, firecracker." Santana's lips quirked at the childhood nickname that still tumbled so easily from the man's lip. "I'm afraid it's all true." The smile on his face faded when a dark cloud settled over Santana's face. "What happened after you told her you loved her, Santana?"

Santana clenched her jaw, the muscles jumping in out against her cheeks in reflex. "She told me that she loved me too," she began hollowly. When Tomas made a move to open his mouth she held up a hand, effectively silencing him. "Then she told me that she couldn't break up with her _boyfriend_." That last word was spat out as if it were a venomous curse that left a foul taste in her mouth. Santana ran a tired hand over her features, hoping to still the tremulous thunderstorm of emotions that still bubbled within her. "What do I do, T?" Her eyes bored into her brother's, imploring him to answer her. "I feel so lost without her."

Tomas yanked Santana into him, grateful when she didn't protest. He smoothed a hand down her hair. For a minute, the curly-haired man didn't say anything. However, when he heard a faint sniffle emerge from under his chin his heart clenched to an almost unbearable degree. He ducked his head down until he was eye level with his baby sister.

Santana was stunned silent when Tomas finally opened his mouth.

"You fight for her, _hermana_. You fight for your girl."

It was exactly the same thing Rachel had said.

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	3. Forging Unexpected Ties

**Chapter 3 – Forging Unexpected Ties**

Tomas had cajoled Santana into returning to school on Monday. He had dropped her off with a kiss to her temple, ghosted a few words over her ear then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before driving off back to Boston. Santana had simply stood there, watching the taillights of his car until it disappeared around the bend before turning to face a new school day with a heavy heart.

Now, having skipped her last period, she found herself in the auditorium, a violin tucked snugly between her shoulder and chin. It was probably one of her best-kept secrets, knowing how to play the violin. Nobody outside her family and Brittany knew that she could play. The truth was she was a natural at it and having started playing from the tender age of four had only served to hone her skill to near perfection. However, violin playing did not go with her being popular and as a result, both the violin and her passion for playing had been put on the backburner.

However, as Santana shifted her weight on the chair, she could not help but notice just how right it felt to hold the small instrument in her arms again. As she lifted the bow over the taut strings, her eyes swept across the empty seats before she closed them. A mournful tune wailed out from the violin as Santana expertly wielded the bow across the strings, the fingers of her left hand dancing over the fingerboard of the violin with well-practiced ease. The Latina allowed herself to get lost in her music, her body swaying unconsciously in time to the melody. Anybody watching would not have seen a trouble girl, fighting an internal war with herself. Instead, they would have been presented with a young woman, poised and comfortable up on that stage, her hand gliding the bow across the violin with a grace that came with years of practice. They would have smiled at the serene look that passed over her face, eyes closed and a small smile that curled the side of her lip. Anyone watching would never have believed that that girl onstage was Santana Lopez.

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The school bell had rung not five minutes ago and Rachel was practically skipping to the auditorium when the sorrowful melody of a violin drifted from between the cracks of the doors to caress the petite diva's ears. Brows scrunched up in confusion, she wondered who it could be. Her trained ears told her that whoever was playing behind those doors was well versed in the art of violin playing. Curiosity getting the better of her, Rachel pushed the auditorium door open quietly, pausing only to shut it before turning around. The person she saw on stage brought the petite brunette to a grinding halt.

Santana Lopez, former head cheerleader and McKinley High's popular girl was on stage playing a violin with an air of having played it for her entire life. So comfortable she was with the instrument that it seemed an extension of her. Rachel fought the urge for her jaw to smack the floor as her eyes drank in the surreal scene in front her. She watched Santana guide the bow across the violin, the fingers positioned over the fingerboard of the violin lightly dancing over the strings with confidence. She observed the Latina's closed eyes, the small peaceful smile that sat amidst a face that was calmer than the ocean after a storm. To say that Rachel was gob smacked at the sight would have been an understatement.

Unwilling to disturb her but yearning to be closer to the beautifully haunting music, Rachel stealthily meandered her way down to the front of the stage, taking great care not to disrupt Santana's playing. When she reached the front row seats, she simply leaned against the nearest one, her eyes riveted to the girl on stage.

Santana drew out the last few notes, dragging the bow slowly, almost lazily across the violin strings. She felt an immediate sense of loss when the music stopped and the auditorium was once again plunged into an abyss of silence. She started, almost toppling off her chair when a hesitant clap rang out. She looked down to see Rachel staring up at her, a look of awe on her face.

"What are you doing here, Berry?" Santana did not have the strength nor willpower to feel embarrassed. In fact, playing the violin had made her feel freer than she had in the longest time. She made a mental point to never stop playing again.

"I didn't know you could play the violin, Santana." Rachel's voice held a note of surprise. She plopped herself down on aisle seat.

Santana shrugged. "I never advertised." Hopping down from the chair, she almost turned to disappear backstage before making her way to the edge of the stage instead. Bending down she gently placed the violin on the ground before sitting down herself, her legs dangling over the stage. "What are you doing here?"

Rachel plucked nervously at the collar of her shirt. "I normally come here after class." She looked down at her shoes before looking back up at Santana. "How are you?" Rachel could not expel what she had unknowingly witnessed the week before last. She suppressed a shudder that licked down the length of her spine as her mind replayed the image of Santana crying in the toilet cubicle. Rachel never wanted to see anyone look so broken ever again.

'None of your business,' was Santana's instinctive answer. However, she owed Rachel for helping her the other day so instead she opted for silence and a shrug.

Rachel nodded and an uncomfortable silence descended over the pair. The petite diva did not know what to say to the girl who had made the better part of her high school experience a living hell and Santana was still too caught up in the mess that had become her life. The silence grew so thick between them that it was almost suffocating; it was like a tangible being, wrapping thick fingers around both girls until they fidgeted uncomfortably in their respective seats.

Rachel was the one to finally break the tension. "How long have you been playing?" She cringed as the acoustics of the auditorium amplified her voice to a decibel that was just a tad louder than she was comfortable with.

Again Santana resisted the urge to bark out a retort. She dragged a hand through her hair. "Since I was four, I guess. My brother," she paused and swallowed, the memory of watching her brother leave this morning still smarting slightly. "My brother persuaded my parents to let me have lessons after I picked one up at the store and starting messing with it."

Rachel smiled. "Must be nice to have siblings."

Santana responded with yet another shrug. She kept her head down, a lone finger trailing lines through the thin layer of dust that coated the stage floor.

"I think you should sing Brittany something." The words were out of Rachel's mouth before she could clamp her teeth down over her lips. When Santana's head shot up at the mention of the blonde's name, her eyes burning with an anger that had Rachel scooting to press her back against the backrest, the petite diva knew that she had crossed a line. However, never one to back down from a challenge, Rachel remained in her seat, trying valiantly not to squirm as Santana's dark eyes bore into her.

The mention of Brittany sent a spike of hurt through the Latina's chest and she grimaced for a scant second before dissolving the hurt into anger. She contemplated jumping down from the stage to smack Rachel across the face for even daring to mention the blonde in her presence but seeing the flash of terror and panic on the petite brunette's face coupled with determination actually soothed her frayed nerves. Rachel may been annoying but she had qualities that Santana actually admired, her stubbornness being one of them.

"I don't know if I can," Santana admitted quietly. She gritted her teeth as her eyes prickled, warning her that she was nearing another crying bout. Santana had cried more in the last week than she had her entire life. The Latina found it extremely ironic that the one person who could put sunshine and rainbows into her day was also the only one that could make her crumble and shatter into smithereens of tears and pain. And crying in front of Rachel? Doing it once was more than enough. She refused to cry in front of the petite diva again.

Rachel could almost taste the pain rolling off Santana; it was like a corporeal entity that hung around the Latina like a growling dark cloud. Timidly, she got to her feet and walked over to her teammate, pausing to inhale a deep breath before addressing the still seated girl. "Music can be a wonderful outlet for a person's emotions. I saw how peaceful you were when you played just now." Rachel paused as the mental snapshot of Santana playing drifted through her mind. "Perhaps you could channel all that you're feeling right now into something productive. If nothing else, it'll help take your mind off things."

Santana rolled Rachel's advice around in her head in a manner that was akin to a wine connoisseur swishing a mouthful of wine in their mouth and letting their taste buds savor the flavor. After a momentary reflection, she nodded. "Thanks, Ber…Rachel." Again, her tongue protested, unused to the formation of saying the petite girl's name.

Rachel simply offered a small smile. She turned to walk away but stopped again. Santana watched her curiously until she swiveled around on the spot. Their eyes, so similar in color, though it could be argued that Rachel's was more of a warm chocolate brownie to Santana's intense coffee swirl, locked. "What?" Santana finally bit out, thoroughly uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"You may slap me for even asking this but," Rachel chewed at the inside of her cheek as she observed the Latina's lanky frame stiffen. "What are you going to do to get her back?"

The question hung between them, an unspoken can of worms that Rachel had tossed out into the open like a ticking grenade and Santana refused to touch. She scowled at Rachel. "That is none of your goddamn business, Berry." She gestured toward the main doors. "Leave before I say something I regret."

Rachel however, stood firm. "You already know that she loves you." She made careful sure not to mention the blonde's name, opting instead for "she". "A song isn't going to send her falling back into your arms."

Santana's eyes darkened with fury. "And what the fuck do you about me and her, huh? What do _you_ know about relationships, Miss "I'm Still Holding My V-Card"?" The words were meant to hurt and Rachel would have been lying if she said they didn't. She looked up at Santana, her eyes once again holding that unreadable expression that caught Santana off guard.

"People think I'm just this annoying chatterbox that has no life outside of my ambitions. But I'm more observant than people give me credit for." She lifted her chin defiantly even as Santana scoffed her disagreement. "Want to hear my theory about why she's with Artie?" She dared Santana to interrupt knowing that she had piqued the Latina's curiosity and smiled smugly when Santana remained silent. "Artie's safe."

"I beg your fuckin' pardon?" Santana had leapt off the stage and stalked over to where Rachel stood. She towered over the petite diva, thrusting a threatening finger into her face. "You had better take that back right now or I'm going to _cut_ you," Santana snarled, menace dripping from every word. "I would _never_ hurt her."

Rachel swatted the finger away, half-wondering where all her courage was coming from but too drunk on adrenaline to care. Her own eyes flashed dangerously as she stood toe to toe with Santana. "That's my point. You _have_ hurt her. Emotionally. You drove her away…all the way to Artie." The petite brunette watched as Santana stumbled back as though Rachel's words were physical blows. Nevertheless, it did not deter her from her impromptu tirade. "I say Artie's safe because he could never hurt her like you could. Remember that she told you that she loves _you_, Santana."

"Are deaf as well as mad?" Santana barked out. Her hand was twitching at her side; the urge to hit something, preferably someone was beginning to affect her self-control. "Did you not hear when you were not intentionally spying on us? She said "I love him too." She loves him too, you stupid midget!" Her voice had become shrill, almost bordering on hysterical as Santana fought against the emotional backlash of mentally hearing Brittany confess that to her.

"She doesn't love him like she loves you."

"What the **fuck** is that suppose to mean, RuPaul?" The name-calling had returned and Santana relished the surge of power and dominance it gave her.

"It means that she loves _**you**_**!**" Rachel threw up her hands in exasperation. "Are you seriously that dense? She loves you in a way that puts all the clarity in those love songs that people sneer at. She loves you in the way that poets and novelists have penned love. She loves you like she could never love anyone else because you are _it_ for her!" Rachel heaved out a huge breath as she flopped back into one of the auditorium chairs. Her abrupt rant had left her breathless and emotionally wrung out. Forcing her head between her legs, she focused on a set of breathing exercises to get her breathing back under control.

The petite diva was stunned when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and shied away barely registering the mumble jumble of words that forced its way out from between Santana's lips. "What?" Rachel mumbled, lifting her head up to look at the Latina.

"Do you really think she loves me like that?" The question was laced with uncertainty and coming from Santana, completely uncharacteristic.

Rachel nodded tiredly as she rubbed at her temples hoping to quell a headache that was niggling the base of her skull. She should have just kept her mouth shut; this was just one more problem that she did not need to deal with. It was times like this that made her wish she had a watertight mental filter; it would have saved her from so much trouble. The petite girl was so busy mentally berating herself that when Santana's next question finally registered with her ears it almost propelled her out of her seat; it was so flabbergasting that Rachel simply could not wrap her head around it.

"Will you help me find and prepare a song?" Expectant dark coffee stained eyes never wavered from Rachel's face as Santana waited for an answer.

Rachel's mouth worked quietly as she tried to articulate an answer. "You…you want _me_ to help you?" She gaped at the former cheerleader, wondering if she had hit her head and woken up in an alternate reality.

Santana nodded. "You were the one who told me to fight for her. What better way to start than with a song?"

Rachel was grappling with straws, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events. After what seemed like an eternity, she gave up trying to decipher the surreal situation she had somehow managed to land herself in and simply nodded her agreement. Then to heighten the oddity of it all, she stuck out her hand.

Santana fought the sudden urge to laugh; Rachel was looking at her outstretched hand as it she had never seen it before. The utter look of befuddlement on the petite girl's face was no doubt priceless. Leaning forward, Santana took the proffered hand and shook it solemnly. Perhaps Rachel Berry wasn't a complete annoyance after all.

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**A/N – **Again, liberties were taken where Santana was concerned. I don't know if her playing the violin really suits but I personally love the instrument and the music it can create so it was the first one that popped into my head. I kinda like the thought of Santana being able to play something that was so completely uncharacteristic of who people thinks she is though. Like it or hate it, let me know.


	4. An Unlikely Friendship

**Chapter 4 – An Unlikely Friendship**

"Bubblegum pop?" Sneer. "Heavy rock…metallic rock?" Grunt. "Pop/Rock?" Another grunt. "Show tunes?" A low snarl.

Rachel sighed in abject frustration as Santana rebutted every one of her suggestions, as she had for the past fifteen minutes since arriving at the Berry house. She swiveled the computer chair around to face the Latina who was lounging on her bed, plucking at the bed covers with a distinct look of disgust on her face. "Santana, whilst I have agreed to help you on this journey to profess your love through the medium of a song, could you at least _try_ to pretend that you don't so thoroughly disapprove of my room and its color palette?"

"Do you ever speak in _normal_ English, Berry?" was Santana's immediate comeback. "Seriously, I'm amazed that you can say all that in a single breath without passing out or your head exploding."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Thank you for that obvious backhanded compliment, Santana. Now why don't you get off my bed and come help me." She didn't wait for an answer as she refocused her attention back to the computer screen, mumbling absentmindedly under her breath as she resumed scrolling through the music loaded on her _iPod_. "World music?" Silence. "Adult alternative?" Another uninterested grunt. "Boy bands, jazz, rap, gospel, Spice Girls?" Rachel was getting desperate; it had been over two weeks since Santana had propositioned her to help find a song to sing to Brittany and so far, every single of their meetings had been disastrous. They had always ended trading insults or standing nose-to-nose, yelling at the top of their lungs. Rachel couldn't help but shudder as the memory of Santana's first visit crept unbidden to the forefront of her mind.

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"_Berry." Santana offered in greeting as she leaned against the doorframe. There was a look of mild distaste tingeing her features, as if merely being on Rachel's front porch was objectionable. _

_Rachel worried the bottom of her lip in response, unsure of whether inviting Santana over was the most sensible idea to begin with. After all, allowing the girl who had made no qualms about tormenting her daily in school into her private abode was for Rachel akin to giving a psychotic murderer free play at the local gun store. _

"_Are you going to invite me in or you just gonna stand there?" Santana's snarky jibe cut through Rachel's reverie and with great reluctance, the shorter girl moved aside to allow the former cheerleader to step across the threshold. "Thanks," she said sarcastically._

_Rachel fought the urge to roll her eyes as she quietly closed the door. "Do you want something to drink?" It was an automatic question, one Rachel had been taught to ask whenever she had guests over. Upon Santana's shake of her head, Rachel gestured toward the stairs. "Ok, well, maybe we should get started then. Follow me."_

_It was awkward. There was no denying that both girls were uncomfortable in the other's presence by the tension that permeated the room to the stiffness of Rachel's shoulders and Santana's atypical silence. By the time they reached the door adorned with a border of gold stars, both girls felt as though they had run a marathon. _

_Fighting the urge to just call off the entire visit, Rachel pushed open the door to her room in uncanny silence and waited with baited breath for the backlash that she knew was sure to come. She did not have to wait long._

"Madre de dios_, Berry!" Santana all but scrunched up her face in patent displeasure as her eyes were assaulted by the color of _pink_. It was seemingly everywhere; on the walls, the furniture, the bedspread. Even Rachel's computer was pink. The Latina was rapidly developing a migraine and she rubbed at her temples in response. "How can you sleep in here?"_

_Rachel scowled as she shouldered her way into her room, past Santana who was still lingering in the doorway, almost afraid to enter in fear that she would go blind. "I like pink. There is nothing wrong with pink."_

_A sneer curled the side of Santana's mouth. "Next thing you're gonna say is that there is nothing wrong with Argyle and Penny Loafers." She stepped gingerly into the room, acting as though the floor would burn her. "Jesus," she muttered as her poor eyes took in her new surroundings. The next hour was sure to be hell._

_xxxxxx_

"_Look I don't CARE if you think it's a good song! I'm not doing it!" _

"_It's a perfectly good song. It's about unrequited love; you should be lucky that anybody can love you at all!"_

"_You would be lucky to have a DOG love you!"_

"_Alright that's it! Get out of my house!" Rachel had jumped up from where she knelt, perched in front of her _iPod_. She strode over to where Santana sat and pushed at the Latina's shoulders._

_Santana batted the diva's hands away, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You did NOT just push me." Her voice had dropped to just short of a growl. _

_Enraged by the girl's behavior and threat, Rachel fisted a hand to the front of Santana's jacket. "Yes. Yes, I did. This is __**my **__house, __**my**__ room. You can't threaten me in __**my **__room!" She shook the Latina._

_Santana rose to her full height, easily towering over the petite diva. She knocked Rachel's hand away before thrusting a finger into her face. "Watch it, Man Hands, or come Monday I'll be giving you so many Slushie facials that your face will resemble a rainbow before second period."_

_Rachel scoffed, not at all intimidated by the raging former cheerleader. She locked eyes with Santana. "Give it your best shot. You can't threaten me when I have knowledge of something that could knock you from the top of the school's social pyramid." She threw Santana a very diva-like smug smile. "I bet Jacob Ben Israel would love to have that juicy piece of gossip on his blog."_

_Santana marched forward, forcing Rachel to backpedal until she met with the computer desk, her back hitting the edge with a dull thump. She snarled, her eyes darkening with a livid fury that would have sent the devil himself scurrying out of sight, tail tucked between his legs. "You so much as breathe a word of it to anybody and I'll kill you myself."_

"_Going to jail for me, Lopez? How fitting," Rachel barked back. "I'm sure you'll feel right at home with the murderers and the harlots."_

"_Goddamn it, hobbit, don't __**push **__me!" She leaned in until their breaths mingled. "I'm warning you, right here, right now. Keep. Your. Mouth. SHUT!"_

"_You keep your mouth shut!" Rachel screamed back. "And get the hell away from me!" Finding a pocket of strength, she mixed it with the adrenaline that was coursing like fire through her veins and pushed Santana away from her forcefully. However, she misjudged the strength she had unwittingly put behind the shove and watched almost in slow motion as Santana toppled back, surprised by the attack. Her arms windmilled around her and though she managed to grab the back of the chair, her momentum was severely thrown off and she ended up on the ground, with the chair crashing noisily next to her._

_Mere seconds later, Rachel's door burst open, revealing a tall, harried looking man. "I heard shouting followed by a crash. What on earth is going on in here?" His jaw sagged as he assessed the scene in front of him; Santana on the ground, panting and rubbing her side whilst the wheels of the bottom of the fallen chair continued to spin. His daughter was leaning again the desk, gripping its edge with an intensity that had her knuckles jutting out in white contrast and she too was breathing heavily, her face ruddy from exertion and her eyes bright with anger. _

_If Leroy Berry thought the scene he had stumbled onto was alarming, the next set of events was sure to derail his current state of mind. The man could not even begin to react as Santana leapt to her feet in a surprisingly feline manner and charged towards a suddenly frozen Rachel, a growl rumbling from pulled back lips. it was only when the two girls were tussling and rolling on the ground did Leroy snap out of his mental paralysis to break them apart…_

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"Earth to Berry…Berry…RACHEL!"

Rachel squealed at the sudden audio intrusion and almost lost her balance on the chair as Santana's yelling of her name brought her back to the present. Upon composing herself, she turned to bestow a glare on the reclining girl. "Could you keep your voice to a reasonable decibel whilst you're indoors?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You spaced, I called, you didn't answer, I got bored." She waved a hand toward the computer. "Keep talking. Music genres. Go."

"What am I, your personal DJ?" Rachel bit out, more than a little agitated. She trained her eyes on the list of songs reflecting off the screen then sighed. "Look, there are only so many genres of music and so far you've dismissed each and every one. There isn't a music genre called 'Santana-The-Brooding-Slash-Bi-Polar-Girl-When-Brittany-Rejects-Her'…" Rachel trailed off, realizing what she just said. She had just said _her _name, which the diva quickly figured out was taboo when said in front of the Latina. Gulping, she swiveled her chair around again, wondering what she would find. Two things would happen when the blonde's name was said in Santana's presence. Either the former cheerleader would go on a vicious verbal and sometimes physical rampage, insulting everything to everyone within a three-mile radius or she would "pull an Angel" as Rachel liked to say and sit and brood not unlike a certain fictional TV vampire character.

Today, it was the latter. Rachel observed quietly from her spot as Santana lay on her bed, eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling. Her bottom lip slid in and out of her mouth, a sure sign that she was upset. It may have only been two weeks but Rachel had quickly learned that Santana had a lot of tells that would give away her mood. Being the observant person that she was, it had only taken a mere two weeks for Rachel to decipher what action meant what. Right now, Santana sliding her bottom lip in and out was a sign of the girl holding tremulous emotions at bay. Rachel ran a hand through her hair, wondering how to pull the girl out of her funk. It was like dealing with a recovering addict; there were days when Santana would almost revert to normal, to the point where she walked around the school sneering and bitching at whoever she deemed unworthy of her attention. However, there were also days where she almost sleepwalked down the McKinley halls, head bowed, hands fidgeting over her books, looking as though her puppy died.

Rachel decided against going to the girl and comforting her. Santana was not a touchy person and disliked sympathy, especially when it was geared toward her. Instead, the petite brunette returned to browsing through her extensive music collection. Her eyes brightened as the cursor of her mouse landed on a as of right now undisclosed genre.

"How about country?"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me." Santana sat up on the bed to pierce the back of Rachel's head with a disbelieving look. "Do you see me parading myself around in a white Stetson, chaps and plaid? The boots I can deal with, they are kinda hot, but the rest? I'd rather eat dirt."

"I'm not asking you to join the rodeo, Lopez." Rachel tamped down the well of irritation that always seem to threaten to overflow whenever she was in close proximity to the Latina.

"No, you're asking me to listen to _country_." Santana's lips twisted in aversion. "_Country_, Berry. Really? You do realize that country music is like emo music…for old people! It's all domestic abuse, alcohol abuse, child abuse, hell it's all **depressing**, that's what it is!"

"Country music is _**not**_ depressing," Rachel snorted. "Well, not all of it. Country music deals with the everyday problems. Yes, the ones you so insensitively mentioned are topics that many country artists have tackled but there's a lot of more. There's many songs about love. Love lost, love found, searching for love, everlasting love." She paused as she clicked on the song that had caught her eye. "Just hold off your criticizing and listen ok?"

Santana threw her hands up in defeat. Propping herself against Rachel's pillow, she resigned herself to three minutes of audio hell.

_I can't make you turn around_

_I can't take back what I did_

_Wouldn't blame you if you hated me_

"Yeah, this isn't depressing at all," Santana quipped sardonically. She scowled when Rachel chopped a hand for silence.

…_slam that open door_

_Throw away four good years_

_Think of everything we used to be_

"Well that's not gonna work. Britt and I have known each other more than four years."

"Santana, _shut up_!"

"Make me, dwarf."

"God, you are so immature!" Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing her ears to ignore the girl behind her as she continued to listen.

_Know right now it's hard to breathe_

_Hard to think and hard to see_

_All the reasons we should work it out_

_It might be easier to go_

_But if you walk out we'll never know_

_How strong we could be at the end of this_

Santana's ears perked up as her mind processed the lyrics. She hated to admit it, but they weren't half-bad; she could actually relate to it if the dull pain in her chest was any indication.

_Know that sorry is not enough_

_But I'll do everything, anything to make it up_

Santana swallowed against the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat. Was she willing to do everything and anything to convince Brittany that she was the one she should be with? She knew the answer even before her mind had finished the thought. Yes. It would always be a yes. Even if she had to sell her soul, even if whatever she had to do would hurt the Latina more than she was capable of handling, Santana would always say yes.

_What if I told you I'd change_

_Would you still walk away?_

_What if I told you I loved you_

_Would you say that it's too late?_

A stray tear escaped before Santana could blink it away. The lyrics were proving to hit a little too close to the truth. "Turn it off." When Rachel threw an annoyed look over her shoulder she clenched her jaw. "Turn. It. Off."

Rachel noted the jaw muscles jumping rapidly on either side of Santana's face and scurried to hit the "stop" button. She got up and made her way over to the Latina, hesitating slightly before sitting on the edge of the bed. She fiddled with her hands. "You ok?"

Santana nodded curtly, lowering her head down until her hair formed a curtain around her face. She stayed this way until her eyes cleared and she managed to corral all her emotions back behind her carefully built walls. "Let's just leave it for today, Berry." Her eyes demanded that Rachel acquiesce to her request and was relieved when Rachel merely nodded her head.

Sliding from the bed, Santana allowed herself a leisurely stretch before glancing at the clock that hung on the wall. "Huh, didn't realize it was that late." She turned to face the still sitting Rachel. "Get up. We're going to Breadstix for dinner." She didn't wait for a reply as she scooped up her jacket that had tossed onto the bedside table. When she noticed that Rachel was still seated, she pinned the girl with an annoyed glance. "Did you not hear me? Breadstix. Now. Move"

Rachel cocked her head. "You actually want to be seen out in public eating with me?" Try as she might, she could not rearrange her face out of the incredulous mask that had been plastered on. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "No, I'm hungry. Maybe it's impaired my judgment so take it or leave it, Berry."

Rachel studied the waiting brunette who bore no sign of emotion at Rachel's contemplation. Finally the diva shrugged nonchalantly and stood. "Breadstix it is." She gestured toward the door. "Lead the way."

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**A/N –** The song I used is "What If You Stay" by Chuck Wicks. And FYI country fans, I didn't diss country music on purpose in this chapter so don't grab your pitchforks and coming knockin' at my door. I'm an avid fan of country music; heck I managed to convince my mom to plan summer vacation around a trip to Nashville! So that part of the chapter was more a reflection on what Santana thought about country…girl doesn't seem the type to listen to that music genre but I could be wrong.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Comments and critiques are welcomed; feel free to share your thoughts.


	5. Cornered

**A/N –** There's a bit of a *spoiler* alert in this chapter. I extracted a bit of the conversation between Santana and Brittany from the 2x16 episode, Original Song and I wrote in a few scenes from the 2x15 episode, Sexy as flashbacks. FYI.

**Chapter 5 – Cornered**

The school bell rang shrilly throughout McKinley High, echoing through empty corridors and seeping beneath closed doors into student filled classrooms. The reaction the bell had to McKinley's student body was immediate; chairs scraped backward, backpacks were lifted from the ground and swung onto shoulders, desks were swept clean of miscellaneous stationery and students began fighting their way out, eager to get to their lockers before heading home. Teachers merely shook their heads, watching with a mixture of exasperation and amusement as their pupils practically shoved their classmates out the door in their haste to leave their academic prison cell.

Santana was amongst the sea of students, trudging through the now overcrowded hallway in an attempt to reach her locker. It took the Latina three shoves, a handful of scowls and an outright threat before she managed to clear herself a path to her designated locker. Once there, her hand automatically moved to the lock. Though she had every intention of twisting her locker combination into motion, her hand remained poised in front of her locker, suddenly frozen into submission by the sensation of someone coming up behind her. There was only person who could make the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention and her entire body to recognize them before her brain did.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut as the smell of strawberries wafted its way to entice her senses. Her shoulders stiffened as a soft, hesitant "hey" drifted to assault and caress her ears simultaneously. Brittany.

Internally, Santana began to panic. She couldn't do this, couldn't be this close to Brittany without wanting to scream and shout or to simply fall apart. So the Latina, girded her mental loins, clamped a lid down on her hurricane of emotions and wisely remained silent, choosing instead to focus her concentration on that damn lock to which she had completely forgotten the combination to.

"Can I ask you a question?" It hurt Santana that Brittany had to preface a question to her like that. It was a glaring neon warning sign to just how fragile their friendship had become. "We used to be really close and I really miss being your friend…"

"Still waiting for the question." Santana did not mean to bite back with that retort but it was either hide behind her bitchy persona or throw herself onto her knees in front of Brittany to beg the blonde to reconsider.

"Did I do something wrong?" Santana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the inane question. She whipped her head around, bestowing a glare onto the blonde that she normally reserved for people she considered unworthy. Unlike other people, however, Brittany neither cowered nor flinched under the glare.

"No, look. I don't know. _Did_ you?" Santana clung onto her anger like a life raft, allowing the livid emotion to seep into her pores. It steadied her, allowed her to face the inevitable talk she was about to have with the girl who broke her heart. She turned to face Brittany, her eyes flashing. "All I know is that you blew me off. To be with Stubbles McCripplepants." Santana hated the crack in her voice and hated even more the look of hurt that rippled across Brittany's face. _'Don't. Don't give in. Be strong.'_

"It's fine," the Latina continued, sneering at the blonde. "It's _your_ loss. Now Sam gets this," she gestured to herself. "And you can get lost."

"Wait, you're still dating Sam?" The incredulous tone in Brittany's voice did not go unnoticed but Santana ignored it in favor of her locker. What was the damn combination? "But you told me you were in love with _me_." The pout, combined with confusion swimming in that puppy dog look almost broke Santana, who still could not help but glance at the blonde from the corner of her eyes.

'_Stay strong.'_ "I honestly don't know what I was thinking." The minute the words were out of Santana's mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue in half. The words hung between them, teasing open the ever-widening gap that now separated the once close pair. Santana's hand tightened on the lock as she began twisting the dial, in an attempt to force her brain to cough up the numbers it would take to open the hunk of metal. However, the weight of Brittany's stare burning the side of her face was wreaking havoc with her mind and after mere seconds of tense silence, Santana snapped.

"Can you _**stop**_ staring at me? I can't remember my locker combo."

"San…" The beeping of Santana's phone cut off Brittany's words.

Santana thanked the powers that be for the interruption. Digging into her pocket, she extracted the slim device before flipping it open.

_**U look lyk ur gonna have a mini breakdown. R u ok? ~ R**_

Santana's head snapped up and she spun around, her eyes canvassing the corridor. She spotted Rachel by the water fountain, observing the pair with apprehensive eyes. Santana swallowed, touched and a little unnerved by Rachel's concern.

_**No. ~ S**_

Santana wanted to kick herself for that moment of weakness but truth be told, she couldn't handle Brittany being in such close proximity to her. It had been over three weeks since their fallout by the lockers and both had maintained a respectable distance from each other, to the point where classmates and teachers alike had noticed the change. However, the distance was something Santana needed, something she _craved_. It gave her time to battle through the emotional and mental gauntlet Brittany had unwittingly threw her into. She should have known that a three week Brittany detox would do little to curb her pain.

"Santana!" Rachel's chipper voice broke through Santana's reverie, startling both her and Brittany.

"Berry," Santana drawled out in greeting. She snuck a sidelong glance at Brittany, who was understandably wearing a look of puzzlement. Nobody knew about Santana and Rachel's unexpected yet now developing friendship. It was like an unspoken agreement between them that their behavior toward each other would not change during school hours. Santana paused to briefly wonder why.

"Hello Brittany," Rachel addressed the blonde, only to have Brittany toss her a watery smile. Rachel noted the way the dancer's eyes flitted back and forth between her and Santana, uncertainty tainting those baby blues. The diva also noted the way Santana's hand was clenching and unclenching at her side; an unmistakable warning that the Latina _was_ close to a meltdown. 'T_ime to move, Rach.'_ "If you'll excuse us, Brittany, Santana and I have to head on down to the library to work on our uh…Science project." She bit her lip at the hesitancy in her voice but hoped Brittany would bypass it. "Coming, Lopez?"

"Huh?" Santana looked at Rachel who looked back expectantly. "Oh right, the _Science_ project." She nodded curtly at the petite girl. "Wait; let me grab something from my locker." Using Rachel's presence as leverage, Santana managed to clear her mind. She unlocked her locker, swung open the door and grabbed a manila folder before slamming it shut. "Let's go," she ordered, marching down the hallway as she spoke. She refused to look at Brittany at all costs.

Rachel threw Brittany an apologetic glance before hurrying after the Latina, leaving the blonde standing despondently by the lockers, a distinct look of hurt and bewilderment coloring her face.

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Santana threw her bag down on the auditorium stage floor and eyed it viciously as she gave serious contemplation to kicking it clear across the room. Needing to vent, she slammed a hand down onto the surface of the piano. "GODDAMNIT!"

"Profanity is highly overrated and completely unnecessary, Santana." Rachel ambled in, carrying a sheaf of sheet music in one hand and a violin case in the other.

"Can it, Broadway," Santana snarled. Her entire body was vibrating; frustration, anger and pain zipping through the marrow of her bones and fraying her already frazzled nerves.

"Another nickname?" Rachel hitched up a brow in amusement. "I actually like this one. You have my permission to use it at will." She ignored Santana's scowl as she set down the case and the sheet music on top of the piano. "Alright-y then. Since, we're here, let's try out a few of these songs."

Santana plopped herself down in front of the piano and held out a hand. She ignored Rachel's eyes rolling and patiently waited until the petite girl gave in with a huff before swiping the sheet music off the piano and into the Latina's hands. "Thank you," Santana said mock sweetly.

"You really are the devil in disguise," Rachel muttered under her breath. She leaned over the piano top, bracing herself on both elbows as she watched Santana sift through the possibilities.

"I think your head's screwed on wrong, Berry." Santana looked up the petite diva before waving the sheaf of papers at her. "None of these are me."

"I think that's the point," Rachel sniped. "I don't think Brittany will appreciate an angry chick song about how she faulted you and ruined your life."

Santana carded agitated fingers through her hair and muttered a string of expletives despite Rachel's stern look. Silence fell between the pair as Santana casually flipped through the music, pausing periodically to fold down the corner of a particular sheet before continuing. She purposely took her time, knowing that it was irritating the girl opposite her. Just when Rachel was about to protest the lack of productivity, Santana glanced up at her...and smirked. "I'm done."

Rachel rolled her eyes, knowing that she had been played. It was unsettling just how easily Santana could push her buttons. "What did you pick?"

"Well, you said I couldn't do music that screamed 'Santana' so I've narrowed it down to cowboys and leprechauns."

"What?" Santana's ending sentence perplexed Rachel and she showed it through furrowed brows and scratching her head.

"Keep up, Berry. Are you slow as well as annoying now?" Santana did not wait for a reply. "There are a few admittedly good country songs that I could be down with. And that one by The Corrs. Get it? Irish? Leprechauns?"

"Yes, very witty, Santana," Rachel drolled. "Maybe one day, you'll be a comedian." She sidestepped around the piano, walked over and snatched the papers out of the Latina's grasp, waving a hand to block out Santana's trademark scowl. "Hmm…" Rachel leafed through Santana's selection, noting that the ones she picked had violin solos. "You know these aren't really the love professing type of songs." She chanced a look over the top of the sheet music.

Santana shrugged. "Maybe I'm not quite ready to go there," she admitted quietly. Her gaze sought Rachel's. "And I don't think Brittany is ready to hear it." She sucked in a breath. "I just...I just need to get some of these, _feelings_," she chewed the word out reluctantly. "off my chest."

Rachel inhaled sharply at the pained look disturbing the coffee brown of Santana's eyes. The petite girl merely nodded and handed the papers back to Santana. "Should we practice one then?"

Santana nodded, glad for a distraction. Standing, she plucked the few pieces of paper she needed then looked around for a music stand and blinked in surprise when Rachel propped one up in front of her along with a stool. She raised an eyebrow in the diva's direction only to be on the receiving end of a smug smile. Santana rolled her eyes and handed Rachel her copy of the sheet music. "You play the piano right?" At Rachel's nod, she continued, "Right, I'll back you up. It's gonna sound a bit odd without the rest of the instruments but…"

"It's fine Santana," Rachel interjected. "It's just you and me, practicing." She sat down on the piano bench and lifted the lid before arranging the papers she put in front of her. Then she looked up to observe the Latina lift the violin out of its case. The former cheerleader cradled the instrument carefully in her hands, turning it over as practiced eyes swept it for any damages or problems. Satisfied, she tucked it between her shoulder and chin before grabbing the bow and doing a few warm up notes. That done, she lowered the instrument then turned slightly to give Rachel the cue to begin.

Rachel cracked her knuckles then set her fingers down against the ivory keys. She swept her gaze over the jumble of notes that ran across the paper and began to play. A sad, haunting melody echoed out from the piano, and it was joined by the melancholy wail of the violin. Regret bled from every note and Rachel fought hard not to get lost in the sea of emotions. If the music was affecting her so, she wondered just how Santana was feeling.

Santana's hand shook slightly as she ran the bow across the violin. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to reign in tears that were prickling at the back of her eyes. She lowered the violin as the first verse to be sung came up.

_She looked so good movin' 'cross the dance floor_

_Better than the day she left me_

_I got my best smile on, but it's no disguise_

_It don't hide the pain in these eyes_

Santana's voice hitched and broke at the last lyric; she felt as though she were going insane. Music had never affected her this way before but after the whole fiasco with Brittany, it suddenly had the uncanny ability to locate and drill deep into the well of emotions that Santana kept under careful lock and key.

_I did her so wrong, for so long_

_Turned my back on her love, and now she's long gone_

Santana thought back to when Brittany asked her to partner up with her for the Duets project. She remembered how panic seized her throat with a crushing force that left her almost unable to breathe as Brittany proposed they sing a Melissa Etheridge song. She mentally winced when she brushed Brittany off with a nonchalant and insensitive comment about how she didn't love her. Who knew denial could render one so blind?

_I did my part to break her heart_

_She walked out on me and tore my world apart_

_She used to be mine_

_Oh, she used to be mine_

As Santana lifted the violin back up to her shoulder and began to play again, her mind wandered down memory lane in response to the lyrics sung. She recalled Brittany telling her that although she loved her, she loved Artie too and wouldn't break up with him. That single memory poured salt on an already open wound, causing it to splutter and bleed out trickles of anguish. The depth of Santana's pain was so profound that she could not contain the quiver in her voice as she sang the next verse.

_It's taken every bit of strength that I have_

_To keep a hurt look off my face_

_I can't keep from looking over my shoulder_

_At the lucky boy takin' my place_

Santana's hand clenched tightly around the fingerboard of the violin as her mind conjured up the image of Brittany hanging over Artie's arm in Celibacy club, a content, happy smile on her face.

_Oh, if it weren't for my pride, I'd probably take off runnin'_

_Guess what I'm feelin', is what I've got comin'_

Santana _had _wanted to bolt out of that Celibacy meeting at the sight of Brittany and Artie cuddling but her stubbornness won out, forcing her to remain stiffly in her chair for the remainder of the session. She remembered the sick waves of nausea that rolled in her stomach, the bile in her throat and the way her hands clenched into fists of their own accord under the table. The urge to throw Artie off a cliff, wheelchair and all, was so strong that should almost taste the satisfaction that teased the tip of her tongue.

_I did her so wrong, for so long_

_Turned my back on her love, and now she's long gone_

_I did my part to break her heart_

_She walked out on me and tore my world apart_

_She used to be mine_

_Oh, she used to be mine_

Santana belted the chorus out with a vengeance, her voice oozing all the pain and sorrow that had found purchase on her soul. She poured herself into the music, the lyrics and when it came to her violin interlude, she ran the bow across the small instrument with a frenzied passion. Her body swayed in time with her playing and nimble fingers jumped from string to string like a demon possessed. The Latina cried out in shock when her finger jammed itself against a string, slicing the pad of her finger open and bringing the song to a grinding halt.

"FUCK!" Dropping the violin and bow onto her lap, she gripped at the wounded finger, squeezing it tightly. Blood seeped from the open cut, running a thin red line down her index finger. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" She sucked the finger into her mouth, the coppery tang of blood causing her taste buds to shudder in disgust.

"Santana, that is completely unsanitary," Rachel remarked, emerging from behind the piano to assess the Latina's dilemma. "And would you please stop cursing."

"Drop dead, Berry," Santana spat out venomously, before returning to nurse her injured finger. "Motherfucker, it stings like a bitch!"

Rachel disappeared backstage and reappeared moments later, towing a first aid kit. She deposited it onto the piano then walked over to Santana to pluck the violin off her lap before motioning Santana to follow. Setting the instrument back into its case, she turned to pop open the first aid kit, fishing out a packet of alcohol wipes and a band-aid. She tore open the packet, wrinkling her nose at the medicinal smell.

"It's gonna sting," she warned the former cheerleader as she accosted the girl's injured finger.

"Like it isn't stinging like hell already?" Santana retorted then hissed as Rachel began cleaning the cut. "What the FUCK is that? Acid? Chrissst!" She gnashed her lower lip between her teeth in retaliation to the pain that was singing quite obnoxiously from where she had sliced her finger open.

"Stop being a baby," Rachel scolded. She swiped at the cut a few more times before tossing the used wipe onto the packaging. Peeling open the band-aid, she carefully wrapped it around Santana's finger, inspecting it for any imperfections before declaring, "done!" a little too cheerfully.

Santana snatched her hand back, cradling it to her chest. "Practice is over," she declared. "I want to go home, crack open a bottle of wine and forget this day ever happened."

"You're not old enough to drink," Rachel said, frowning in disapproval.

"Feel free to ring up the cops, Broadway," Santana replied uncaringly. She went to pick up her discarded bag. "Thanks for the medical assistance," she threw over her shoulder before striding out of the auditorium.

Rachel watched her go, a blend of concern and vexation marring the features of her face. Shaking her head, she proceeded to clean up the materials they had left behind.

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**A/N 2 –** The song used is Brooks & Dunn's, "She Used To Be Mine." What can I say; I'm on a country kick.


	6. Seeking Sanctuary

**Chapter 6 - Seeking Sanctuary**

Santana stumbled across the parking lot, the bleary look on her face half masked by the pair of black sunglasses she had donned upon leaving the house. It was the same pair she wore after the "Rachel-Berry-House-Party-Train-Wreck-Extravaganza" and judging from the way her head was shrieking blue bloody murder at her alcohol indulgence, the Latina was sure that the same imaginary drummers had piled back inside her skull to make her life a living hell.

The former cheerleader ascended the front entrance steps, hesitating at the doorway before pushing open the doors. She immediately regretted her decision to come to school; the moment those doors swung back, a barrage of noise rammed into her with Herculean force. Santana cringed as the sounds of laughter, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor, lockers slamming shut and the all too loud snippets of conversations pelted into her booze soaked brain like razor sharp spikes. Moaning aloud, she cupped both hands over her ears in a futile attempt to block out the audio assault and began to navigate her way through the throng of students. Each step proved more agonizing than the last; each laugh got louder, every conversation buzzed just a little too close to her already abused head and it seemed as though every student had a vendetta against her and were exacting vengeance by closing their lockers with such brute force that the sound reverberated down the hallways and rattled her skull.

By the time the Latina reached her locker, it was all she could do to not take off into the nearest bathroom to reenact a scene from _The Exorcist._ She was sure her face held the same green tinge as the split pea soup used in that infamous vomit scene. Not bothering to open her locker, she simply leaned against it, pressing her forehead against the cool metal in hopes that it would quell the chaotic banging in her head.

"San?"

Santana's eyes slid shut of their own accord behind the sunglasses. Evidently, the gods were cruel and had chosen her as their personal scapegoat for amusement. It had to be, because in an alternate universe, Brittany would not be standing behind her, requesting an audience. The girl remained motionless against her locker, face pressed tightly against its surface as she tried to _will_ Brittany or herself to disappear.

"San?"

"What?" God, even her voice was like a hot iron rod through her skull. It did not help that right at that very moment; Santana sounded like a chain-smoker who had slathered her vocal cords with one too many shots of whisky.

Brittany's brows were pinched into a frown. She reached up to trace an imaginary line down the Latina's pale cheek. "You're sick," she observed unhappily. She cupped the side of Santana's face, a small smile tugging at the corner of lips as she watched the hungover girl lean into her touch.

It was reflex, the leaning. Brittany's touch always had that effect on her and if she could not resist it when she was sober and of a healthy state of mind, her pathetic hungover self had no chance of resisting the temptation that was Brittany. Therefore, in a state of weakness, brought on by a bottle of wine, she merely allowed the blonde to comfort her. She kept her eyes closed, choosing instead to focus on the gentle warmth radiating from Brittany's palm and the way the blonde's thumb moved back and forth against her cheekbone. She only flinched slightly when Brittany reached up to remove her sunglasses.

"Open your eyes, San," Brittany whispered, her voice bordering on a desperate plea as she gripped the Latina's sunglasses with slender fingers in one hand whilst the other rested on the softness that was Santana's cheek. She missed this, missed being able to touch Santana, missed being in the girl's arms, surrounded by the scent of freshly baked cinnamon and a fresh summer sea breeze. But mostly, she missed looking into Santana's eyes. Those intense orbs of coffee swirls were always a source of fascination for Brittany; when Santana was upset, her eyes would darken and the deep brown of her eyes would seem to liquefy and saturate her irises. When she was happy, it was like looking into twin pools of Willy Wonka's chocolate waterfall. And in the throes of passion…

"Look at me, Santana."

Santana was horrified when a choked sob escaped unbidden. Bad enough, the alcohol had affected her physicality but now it had taken to sinking its wretched teeth into her emotions. She tore away from Brittany's touch, squinting open her eyes to locate her sunglasses, which she promptly snatched out of Brittany's hand before jamming them back onto her face. When Brittany attempted to touch her again, Santana began backing away slowly, going so far as to turning her back to the blonde.

Brittany chewed her bottom lip, tears brimming in her eyes. "Why won't you look at me?"

Santana's left cheek blazed in wake of a lone tear that sizzled down from the corner of her eye. "Because," she husked out hollowly. The tears were evident in her voice and she made no effort to hide them. "Because if I look at you, I know that you're not really there." The words 'for me' were left unsaid but they hung at the precipice of the Latina's lips, begging for structure and the audio jackets that would jolt them to life.

Brittany tried to put a hand on Santana's shoulder and was stung when the girl shrugged it off. "I don't understand." The confusion coloring the blonde's voice was for Santana, needles piercing her eardrums. "Santana, please. I'm right here."

Santana's shoulders heaved as she swallowed another sob. "No. No, you're not." At the rate she was going, Santana anticipated that she would have to check herself into the nearest psychiatric institution by the end of the week. She had never been so bi-polar with her emotions. She shook off the hand that Brittany once again tried to put on her rigid shoulders. "_Don't_. Please. If you care for me at all, just…just leave me alone."

With that, she bolted down the hallway, not even looking back to see Brittany standing by her locker, tears running in rivulets down her face or Quinn, who had unknowingly played witness to the entire scene.

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Rachel was in the choir room, thumbing through her AP English notes on the piano bench when suddenly the door flew open and before she could so much as gasp and lift her head, she found herself with a lapful of a crying Santana.

"W-w-wait…what?" Rachel did not have the luxury of time to process the surreal predicament because it looked and sounded as though Santana had completely come apart at the seams. Allowing instinct to take over, she shifted slightly to straddle the piano bench so that Santana sat between her legs. She wrapped surprisingly strong arms around the weeping girl's heaving shoulders and allowed her to bury her tear-stained face into the crook of her neck. She winced as the rim of Santana's sunglasses cut into her neck and worked an arm out to remove the offending item before tossing it onto the piano. Returning her arm back around Santana, Rachel said nothing as she tried to cocoon the crying brunette in a tight layer of comfort. One hand worked up and down Santana's back, smoothing the winkles of her shirt even as the diva rubbed soothing lines from the base of the Latina's neck to down the length of her spine.

Minutes passed in silence save for the sobs and hiccups that punctured the air. Rachel's brow was furrowed in apt concern as she periodically glanced between the wall clock and the hunched over girl in her arms. Another visual sweep of the clock told the diminutive girl that time was running out and the rest of the Glee Club along with Mr. Schue would soon be pouring into the room to witness a very uncharacteristic side of Santana.

"Santana." Rachel bent down to tuck a lock of hair behind the Latina's ear. Her heart whimpered in sympathy upon seeing Santana's face; her cheeks were blotted and twin wet tracks of tears lined either side of her face. Dark circles marred the underside of her eyes, which were still glistening with unshed tears. Her lower lip quivered and her chest was heaving. Rachel brushed away the diamond droplets of tears that still caressed a path down Santana's face. "I know this is hard, but can you hold it together long enough for us to get out of here?" Her eyes sought out the Latina's. "I don't think you want the rest of the club coming in here to see you like this."

Without waiting for an answer, she retrieved the sunglasses she had dumped onto the piano, pushed it back onto the bridge of Santana's nose and slid out from the girl's arms. Bending down to grab their backpacks, she somehow managed to haul the former cheerleader to her feet, out the choir room, down the hallway and out of the school without so much as a glance in their direction. Rachel made a mental note to thank whatever powers that be that were responsible for that divine intervention as she unlocked her car and unceremoniously pushed the silently and oddly submissive Latina into the passenger seat. Closing the door, she paused briefly to open the back door to toss in their respective bags before wounding her way round the car to the driver's door. Getting in, she started the engine and backed out of the lot, all to the very worrying silence of one subdued and unmoving Santana.

As she drove them out of the McKinley High, Rachel had to wonder if the Latina imitating one of those park statues was a sign of catatonia or she had simply lapsed into a vacuum of silence out of sheer self-preservation.

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"Where are we going?"

After thirty minutes of quiet save for the quiet hum of the radio, Santana's voice was a sudden and unexpected intrusion. Rachel could not help but jump in her seat, causing her hands to slip slightly off the wheel and the car to swerve slightly off course. She righted her hands and the car before turning to glare at her passenger. "Do that again, and I'll kill the both of us."

Santana shrugged and leaned her head against the window. She massaged her temples, glad that the thumping in her head had dulled to a low throb. She allowed silence to lord over the car for a mere minute before repeating her query. "So? Where are we going?" She stole a sidelong glance at Rachel who studiously kept her eyes on the road. "Or is this your way of telling me that you're kidnapping me with every intention of dumping my mutilated body into a mineshaft?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, I think you're insane," the petite girl retorted. She heard a snicker from the other girl and almost refrained from answering her question. "I'm taking you some place where you can…recuperate."

Santana glanced out at the passing blur of scenery. "Anywhere out of Lima is good to me." She grew quiet as she observed the seemingly endless stretch of road that yawned out in front of her. "Thanks," she offered, her voice soft with gratitude.

Rachel turned to quirk her lips at the Latina. "Normally I abhor the skipping of school as I have a perfect attendance record to maintain but I think helping out a friend takes priority." She chanced a look to Santana whilst worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "We're friends, right?"

The uncertainty in Rachel's voice threw up a massive wave of guilt that disturbed the already tremulous ocean of emotions that Brittany concocted in her. Santana leaned over slightly and dropped a hand down on Rachel's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Yeah," she said. "We're friends." She hoped that her voice conveyed the conviction that she felt.

Rachel graced Santana with a shy smile before returning her eyes to the road. She spotted the almost hidden dirt track and pulled the car left and onto it. The pair once again descended into silence until Rachel pulled the car to a stop by a clump of trees that thickened into a wooded area.

Santana eyed her new surroundings with a twinge of apprehension. "Is this where you kill me and dump my body into a mineshaft?"

Rachel scoffed. "You're not worth going to jail for." She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, gesturing for Santana to follow suit before locking the car.

Santana followed the petite girl through the clump of thickening trees and they continued through the woods for a while until Santana began to get angsty. Just as she was to open her mouth to ask where the hell they were going, the trees thinned and like a curtain parting, revealed a small clearing with a gurgling pond. A small waterfall toppled from a cliff face, feeding the pond with fresh water, presumably from the nearby mountains. Trees towered over this clearing, stationed like a circle of protectors and though they were tall and overbearing, thin shafts of sunlight still penetrated through the branches and leaves, lending the place a mystical and ethereal atmosphere.

"Wow," was the only thing Santana managed to articulate. Wordlessly, she made her way down to a jutting flat rock that hung over the pool and sat down.

Rachel came up behind her, settling down on a soft patch of grass. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice no louder than a whisper. "My dads and I found this place by accident when we decided on an impromptu road trip last summer." She sifted her hand through the emerald green stalks of grass. "I come here every now and then when I need to get away or think."

Santana could feel the pressure cooker of emotions simmering down just by absorbing the tranquility of the clearing. The fresh air, so untainted and pure, brought about a kind of peace that Santana did not know she could feel. She turned and grabbed Rachel into a surprise hug. "Thank you for sharing this, Rachel." For once, this petite girl's name glided off her tongue with ease.

Rachel started at the unexpected contact then smiled into Santana's hair as she returned the embrace. "You're most welcome."

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	7. How The Other Half Copes

**Chapter 7 – How The Other Half Copes**

"Brittany?"

"Mmm?" was all the lanky blonde could manage as she lay on Quinn's bed, clutching a hideously bright yellow duck with an almost desperate intensity to her chest. One hand ruffled the fur of the toy, savoring the soft downy texture even as she held it impossibly close to her person.

Quinn sat Indian style at the end of the bed, observing her fellow blonde with hazel eyes that were always expressive and open even when the contours of her face were still as the waters of the sea on a windless day. And right now, the faint ring of gold amidst the smudges of brown and green seem to almost glow with avid worry as her eyes tracked a visual path up and down the length of Brittany. The blonde dancer, customarily exuberant and full of bubbly energy was always the picture of smiles and dancing baby blues. However, the blonde lounging in her bed was anything but cheerful. In fact, the blonde reclining on her bed was so far off the scale of happy that Quinn scarcely recognized her to be Brittany. Sure, it looked like Brittany, physically at least, but there was such a profound sadness lingering all over the blonde that it had managed to eat away the cheerful persona that fit Brittany like a well worn glove. In its place was this…shell; empty and devoid of sunshine and cheer.

Quinn gently touched Brittany's socked foot, rubbing at the material in a small gesture of comfort. "You want to talk to me about it?" the former head cheerleader asked gently.

Brittany shook her head and Quinn was alarmed to hear a sniffle. She sidled up the bed and wriggled one arm under Brittany's shoulders, tugging until the lanky dancer turned into her embrace, burying her face into the crook of Quinn's neck. Another sniffle caused a small tremor to rattle Brittany's frame and Quinn tightened her arms around her in response.

"This is about Santana, isn't it?" Despite the fact that she looked like the stereotype for "dumb blonde", Quinn was not the bluntest tool in the shed. She had enough deductive reasoning skills along with a healthy dose of common sense to draw upon the conclusion that the only person who could render such a gentle-natured soul like Brittany into a quivering emotional mess was a certain caustic Latina. That and the fact that she had unknowingly stumbled onto their brief but palpably tense encounter by the lockers earlier today at school.

"San's mad at me." It was a barely audible confession and Quinn had to strain her ears to hear it.

The shorter blonde sifted a hand through Brittany's hair. "Why is she mad at you, Britt?"

Brittany shook her head where it lay against Quinn's neck. "She wouldn't look at me today because she said I wasn't there." The blonde head popped up briefly so that azure blue eyes locked onto fluid hazel. "I don't understand why she said that, Quinn. I'm right here!" She lifted up a hand to her face, almost going cross-eyed as she scrutinized the appendage in front of her. "You see me right? I haven't turned invisible?"

Quinn indulged in a small chuckle at the girl's confusion before shaking her head. "No, B. You're definitely not invisible." She guided Brittany's head back to her shoulder. "I don't think that's what Santana meant, sweetie."

"Then what did she mean, Quinn?" came the mumbled query. "She's been avoiding me for weeks. I miss her…" Brittany's voice trailed off into a distressed whimper and she re-clutched the toy duck so tightly to her that a part of Quinn was afraid that the stuffing was going to burst out when the seams of the toy ripped open from the pressure.

That duck. Quinn moved a hand to rub at its fuzzy head, her mind already strolling down memory lane as she recalled how Brittany came to be in possession of it. Of course, the reason why Brittany was now holding the poor toy in a death-grip was because Santana was the one who had won it for her. A soft smile played across Quinn's lips as the reel of memories of how that duck came about began playing in her mind's eye.

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"_San, look!" A ten-year-old Brittany, in grass stained overalls and her hair in pigtails was almost bursting out of her skin as she jumped up and down on the spot, one arm stretched out as her finger pointed to the source of her excitement. _

_Santana followed the direction Brittany's finger was pointing and though at first it was difficult to see what had gotten the blonde so riled up when there were so many people, she finally caught a glimpse of blinding yellow. _

"_A duck?" Santana looked at the hideous creature, propped up on the shelf at the back of some game booth. "You want that?" Despite being only ten, Santana had become unworldly creative when it came to giving Brittany what she wanted. Her mind was already going through the various strategies she could use in order to obtain that duck._

"_Hey, there you two are." Tomas, emerged from crowd, parting the sea of people easily with his broad shoulders and general good looks. In one hand, he held two sticks of cotton candy. Gripping the other was a tiny little blonde wearing a sundress, her golden locks falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. She too was clutching a fluffy cloud of pink cotton candy and was happily nibbling a corner of it. _

"_Cotton candy!" Brittany squealed, the duck momentarily forgotten. She happily accepted the sugary treat and proceeded to make Tomas laugh aloud as she thrust her entire face into the fluffy concoction, her mouth chomping off a gigantic bite before she emerged, bits of the pink candy clinging to her hair and cheeks._

_Santana giggled as she took hers from her brother. "Now you look like a cotton candy, yourself, B." She reached up and swiped a stray piece of fluffy candy off Brittany's cheek with her finger before bringing it to her mouth. "Mmm, sweet," the tiny brunette mumbled around the appendage._

"_Oh, Quinn!" Brittany reached out to grab the other blonde's hand before tugging her in the direction of the aforementioned duck. "See that! It's a duck!"_

_Quinn wrinkled her nose as her mesmerizing hazel eyes chanced upon the brightest shade of yellow she had ever had the misfortunate of laying her gaze on. "That's…nice," she offered weakly. She quickly nibbled off another corner of the cotton candy in order to occupy her mouth. _

"_San?" Brittany turned puppy dog eyes onto the Latina, a pout already pushing out her bottom lip._

_Santana rolled her eyes indulgently. "You want it, B?" _

_Brittany nodded excitedly and moved to clap her hands but squished the cotton candy between her palms instead. "Oops!" she giggled before proceeding to lick her hands clean._

_Santana turned her own version of puppy dog eyes on her brother who was watching his charges' interactions with an evident air of amusement. He shook his head at his little sister as he fished out a handful of change, dropping them gently into Santana's outstretched palm. "G'wan then, firecracker."_

"_Thanks, Tomas!" She thrust her cotton candy back into her brother's hands before running off toward the game booth, her brother, Brittany and Quinn hot on her trail. _

_The trio ended up spending the better part of their day at the annual Lima county fair watching as Santana played game after game of knocking down milk bottles with a baseball. Being so tiny, her co-ordination and aim were slightly off and although she was allowed to stand on a crate, Santana never quite managed to knock down all the bottles. The fiery brunette had been quite determined though, rebutting Tomas' offer to play for the duck and continuing to throw ball after ball until her arm shook and she could barely lift the ball left along swing her arm to throw. _

_In the end, the booth owner had taken pity on the small brunette and had extracted the duck from the shelf, handing it over to a slightly panting Santana who thanked him profusely before turning to drop the toy into Brittany's waiting arms. _

_Brittany had let loose a high-pitched squeal of such unadulterated delight that it turned several smiling faces in their direction. Launching herself into Santana, her fervent hug knocked both her and the brunette to the ground, the stuffed toy squashed between them. "Thank you, San! Thank you, thank you!" She then proceeded to kiss every inch of Santana's face._

_Santana laughed at the blonde's antics even as she tried to dodge the ticklish kisses and wind her arms around Brittany at the same time. "You're welcome, B." She then flipped Brittany onto her back and began tickling the blonde with childish enthusiasm, causing an all out tickle war between her, Brittany, Quinn and Tomas._

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Quinn chuckled under her breath as the memory drew to a close. She remembered Brittany being over the moon and the quietly proud look Santana had donned upon seeing the blonde so happy. Brittany had proceeded to carry that duck everywhere with her for the rest of the year, parting with it only when circumstances called for it.

"What's funny?" Brittany's voice was slightly distorted as her lips were mashed up against Quinn's collarbone.

"I was just remembering the day Santana won you that duck," Quinn replied, feeling Brittany's lips curved into a smile against her skin at her response.

Brittany nodded from where she lay. "San couldn't move her arm the next day." The blonde chewed her lower lip in slight guilt. "I felt so bad."

Quinn laughed lightly and reached down to gently tickle Brittany's sides, grinning when her actions incited a giggle. "Yeah, but even when you told her to stop, she wouldn't until you got that duck. Santana is nothing if not determined." She looked down at the blonde in her arms, hating to ruin the lighter mood that had draped a careful blanket around the room but she needed some questions to be answered. "B?"

"Hmm?"

"What had been going on with you and Santana?"

Brittany stiffened in response to the question, much to Quinn's dismay. She could practically hear her words tearing holes into the blanket of happy memories that Quinn had dug up. And seeping through the holes was a black smoke that stank of unhappiness and sorrow.

"San's mad at me," Brittany repeated what she said earlier.

Quinn resisted the urge to shake the blonde in her arms. "You said that already, B." She reached down and tucked two fingers under the dancer's chin, forcing Brittany to look up at her. "_Why_ is she mad? You two have fought before but you always make up. What's so different about this fight?" Quinn was genuinely concerned; although she and Santana had drifted apart in high school, they used to be close. In fact, her, Brittany and Santana were like the unbreakable trio, always together, always united. Until high school. Quinn silently cursed the way the school's social hierarchy had fractured their once tight-knit friendship.

Brittany felt tears pool in her eyes. "She told me she loved me," she whispered.

Quinn's head snapped up so fast, she almost gave herself whiplash. "What?" Quinn could practically feel an ache radiating off her jaw after it had the proverbial ground. She worked her mouth, opening and shutting it in hopes of uttering a semblance of a word to no avail. Finally, she settled for pinning Brittany with a disbelieving stare.

Brittany nodded sadly and cuddled the duck to her chest, bending until her nose riffled through its soft fur.

"She…" Quinn swallowed experimentally, hoping to dislodge the lump in her throat. "She actually said 'I love you'…to _you_?" Quinn knew there was more than friendship between the Latina and the blonde. She knew that they indulged in the occasional romp in the sheets and that there was always that wall of unresolved sexual tension between them. But for _Santana_, of all people, to be the first to admit those three words…Brittany's admission was nothing short of astronomical.

Brittany nodded again, the action causing the buildup of tears to overflow and spill down creamy cheeks. She sniffed and buried her face into the toy.

"Hey, don't do that," Quinn said, gently shucking a tear that clung to the corner of Brittany's lip. Leaning to the side of the bed, she plucked a Kleenex from the bedside table and began dabbing at Brittany's eyes. "What did you tell her?" Quinn asked quietly, her voice holding the faintest of quivers as dread poured through her veins in anticipation of Brittany's answer.

"I told her I loved her too."

Quinn exhaled a breath that she did not even know she was holding. "Well that's good right?" She allowed false hope to coat her tone, knowing that it was a sad attempt at seeing the bright side of her two friends admitting their feelings for each other. With the way Brittany and Santana had been for the past few weeks, it was painfully evident that Brittany had not finished explaining the whole fiasco. Quinn mentally prepared herself for the other shoe to drop.

"Then I told her that I wouldn't break up with Artie." The pain in Brittany's voice was like a corporeal entity that sprung from the dancer's lips to squeeze a hand over Quinn's heart.

"Why, Brit?" Quinn could not make sense of this. Santana told Brittany she loved her, Brittany loved her back so where was their happy ending?

"Because I love Artie too." Brittany's voice broke at this confession and she let loose a gut wrenching sob.

Quinn threw her arms around Brittany as the girl broke down in her arms. She felt her own tears well at the sounds of heartache and conflict coming from Brittany as well as the dilemma the blonde dancer found herself in. Whoever said that a person could not love two people at the same time was full of crap because Quinn had her evidence right here, in her arms, crying as though somebody had told her that they had eradicated the world's entire duck population.

The former head cheerleader rocked Brittany as she puzzled through the dancer's predicament. She kept her arms anchored and steady around Brittany, keeping her afloat from the torrent of tears and emotions that could throw her into a fiercer whirlpool of anguish. However, when Brittany's sobs had subsided into mere sniffles and hiccups, Quinn still had not managed to procure a solution to her fellow blonde's problem. In fact, the only concrete thing that had managed to take shape in her mind was a question that was about as prickly and excruciating as running headfirst into a cactus. Nevertheless, Quinn could no more stop herself from asking it then she could pull the stars from the sky.

"Britt?" Quinn's voice quaked under the pressure of the question she was about to toss into the air like a hissing, writhing snake.

Brittany turned pain-washed eyes onto the former head cheerleader, the emotion congealing the blue of her irises into a startling shade of turbulent stormy gray.

Quinn sucked in a breath.

"Who do you love more?"

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	8. Caught In The Crossfire

**A/N – **Just want to give a quick shout out to everybody who left a review. Thanks for your continued support!

**Chapter 8 – Caught In The Crossfire**

Rachel was rooting about in her locker, searching for her suspiciously absent chemistry textbook when her locker door slammed shut, almost decapitating her hand in the process. Rachel thanked her lucky gold stars that she just happened to be dexterous and alert enough this morning to avoid a trip to the nurse's office. Sighing, she carded a resigned hand through her brown locks as she turned to face her first tormentor of the day.

Quinn. Rachel blinked stupidly as her eyes zeroed in on the former head cheerleader, her mind going completely unhinged as she came face to face with the last person she expected. "Quinn?" The diminutive girl cocked her head in an inquisitive manner.

"What have you done?" Quinn practically hissed out the words as she leaned menacingly toward the Glee captain, her hazel eyes ablaze with fury.

"I beg your pardon?" Rachel was truly confused. What exactly was Quinn accusing her of? She tilted her head even further, perfectly imitating a cocker spaniel awaiting instruction.

"Don't play dumb, Treasure Trail."

The use of that derogatory nickname cut and Rachel bit her lip in response. She thought they were over that, what with everything Quinn went through last year with her pregnancy and the way Glee Club had brought everyone together in a slightly dysfunctional but cohesive unit. However, looking at Quinn now, who was towering over her, ready to play judge, jury and executioner to a crime Rachel had no recollection of committing, the petite diva had to surmise that perhaps all that bonding was nothing but a fantasy.

"May I inquire as to what you're accusing me of?" Rachel opted for politeness, even though the Quinn that was now breathing down her neck was unnervingly reminiscent of the old Quinn Fabray, the one that used to leave snarky comments on her MySpace page and ordered jocks and cheerleaders alike to adorn Rachel with slushies. Yeah, _that_ was the Quinn Rachel had the misfortune of being in the presence of on this fine school morning.

"Oh, don't even play the innocent card, Man Hands," Quinn snarled as she thrust a finger into Rachel's face. "It's bad enough that you had to go and ruin relationships but now you want to ruin people's friendships too? What kind of person _are_ you?"

Rachel blinked again, this time to clear the red fog of anger that had dropped over her eyes. She batted Quinn's finger away, a surge of satisfaction jetting down her veins at the blonde's look of surprise at her defiance. "That's rich, coming from _you_ Quinn," the petite girl scoffed. "You, of all people are giving _me_ a lecture on the scruples of my actions? The girl who used to personally go out of her way to make my high school experience a living hell? The one who ordered peopled to throw slushies in my face or deface my car? The one who belittled me with remarkably unimaginative and juvenile insults every chance she got? I believe, Quinn, this is where the phrase "pot calling the kettle black" comes as an appropriate response. " Rachel jutted out her chin as she met Quinn's verbal volley with her own. "And for the record, I still have no idea as to what you're accusing me of, so if you would be so kind to enlighten me, I would very much appreciate it."

Quinn's lips pulled back over her teeth as she snarled again, leaning down so close to Rachel's face that they were practically breathing in the same pocket of air. "Brittany and Santana," she gritted out, her voice low and mutinous. "I was up all night with Brittany, listening to her cry and mumble near unintelligible sentences about how you and _Santana_ have for some god awful reason, become chummy pals." Part of Quinn knew that she was being irrational; the very fact that Santana would hang out with _Rachel_ was laughable at best but seeing Brittany so downtrodden had kicked her protective instincts into high gear. Brittany had that kind of effect of people; for all her joviality and carefree attitude, her naivety and the child-like way she saw world made her a very fragile and vulnerable individual.

"Do you know what it's like to see Brittany cry?" Quinn demanded, her heart aching just voicing out such a hateful thought. "_Brittany_? The girl who thinks that Dr. Seuss actually meant it when he wrote about having people live on a _speck_? Are you really so cruel as to tear away the one person Brittany cares about and relies on just so you can get your kicks?"

"Now, hold on just one minute!" Rachel was seething at this point. How dare Quinn accuse her of such a crime when clearly, the blonde did not have a good handle on all the facts? She poked Quinn in the chest, forcing the taller girl to stumble backwards. "You come here, to my locker and _accuse_ me of hurting Brittany without pausing to _think_ about the implausibility and _**absurdity**_ of your allegation? Have I ever presented myself as being so cruel that I would subject other people to misery and ridicule just so I could "get my kicks?" I believe that, Quinn, is _your_ forte."

Quinn opened her mouth to respond but Rachel cut her off. "And furthermore, before you continue to verbally assault me, let me tell you _my_ side of the story." Rachel had never been so livid, never felt the poisonous fumes of anger so intimately before and frankly, it was scaring her. It was as though she had no control of her motor skills and her fury was spitting words out with such acidic bite that she felt her tongue burn in response. "You asked me if I have ever seen Brittany cry. Well let me ask _you_ this, Quinn: have you ever seen a person, who to the outside world exudes nothing but confidence and swagger, become so broken and defeated that they spent the better part of the afternoon puking their guts out in the girls' bathroom? Or pretty much unraveling at the seams and spiraling into an abyss of depression from a simple _song_, so much so that they run on home to a bottle of wine? Or hey, what about almost collapsing into an emotional breakdown in the middle of the school's _hallway_ for _everyone_ to see? What do you make of _that_, Quinn?"

"I-I…" Quinn was at a loss for words. She had never seen Rachel so riled up, over _Santana_ of all people, but what disturbed her most was what Rachel had confessed in the heat of her anger. "I…"

"Have I managed to rob you of coherent thought?" Rachel's face was burning so intently, she half expected her cheeks to spontaneously combust into flames. She took a step forward until her nose almost brushed Quinn's. "You act all high and mighty, Quinn and whilst you may have approached me in Brittany's defense, you had absolutely NO right to say what you just did. You're forgetting that you're only seeing, or in this case, hearing, one side of the story."

"Then tell me the other side of the story," Quinn chewed out. "Tell me why I spent a sleepless night holding Brittany and watching her fall into a restless sleep, plagued with nightmares so vivid and harsh that she cried out more than once?" She reached out to grab Rachel's shoulders, her nails digging into the Argyle sweater. "Tell me!" She shook the tiny diva.

"Get off me!" Rachel tried to squirm out of her grasp to no avail. All that cheerleading practice had given Quinn that extra layer of muscle and strength that she was now able to wield with ease.

"No," Quinn breathed out. She may be relatively stronger than Rachel but the brunette was putting up quite a struggle. "Tell me why you're involved in this whole mess…tell me!" She shook Rachel hard to emphasize her point before pushing her forward so that the girl was trapped between her and lockers.

"FABRAY!"

Quinn suddenly found herself flung off Rachel and shoved into the row of lockers that a second ago, she had Rachel pinned to. She looked up in shock at her attacker only to find one _very_ livid Santana Lopez glaring at her with palpable wrath.

"Alright, Fabray. Let's you and me have at it. Leave Berry out of this." Santana spared Rachel a sidelong glance, sweeping her eyes down the length of the petite girl's body to ensure that she was physically okay.

Quinn's eyes tracked over Santana's shoulder to pick out a small throng of students who had gathered around to observe the commotion. Then she glanced back into Santana's face and was startled to see the Latina gazing at Rachel with a fierce kind of protectiveness and concern. Quinn's heart stuttered as she remembered how Santana would look at her that way whenever someone had the stupidity to upset her. _Then_ Quinn remembered Brittany and her stubbornness blinded her all over again.

"Did I enter some kind of Twilight Zone?" Quinn spat out, heaving a shove against Santana's shoulders, forcing the brunette back. "Since when are you friends with that _thing_?"

The slap was so unexpected that it rendered the entire hallway mute, allowing the acoustics of the hallway to echo the sound down the length of its corridor.

Quinn staggered back, in both astonishment and the fact that the sheer brute force of Santana's slap caused her to physically stumble. One hand moved up to cup her stinging cheek, which she was sure was already an inflamed shade of red. The blonde could also taste a trace of copper at the corner of her lip and when the tip of her tongue peeked out in curiosity, it swiped over a cut that had split open the skin of her bottom lip. Once saliva touched the open wound, the cut hissed, spitting pain and displeasure.

Beside them, Rachel, who had been promoted from victim to spectator upon Santana's Houdini-like entrance, suddenly burst into tears, the dam of emotions she had managed to keep in check, crumbling under the current situation. It was all too much to handle and though Rachel may present herself to be far more mature than the average teenager, deep down she was still a vulnerable sixteen-year-old girl. And hearing all those nickname dug up many a painful memory that came chained with feelings of humiliation and bone-deep pain. Reacting swiftly to what her instincts were screaming for her to do, Rachel gave in and bolted down the hallway in an eerie reenactment of what Santana did weeks ago.

"Rachel!" Santana made a futile grab for the girl's arm but was evaded by Rachel's quick feet. Torn, Santana froze momentarily as she weighed her options. A part of her wanted to go after the girl but she still had a problem to deal with. That problem being Quinn. She rounded onto the blonde, who was nursing her sore cheek; the skin around the left side of her face had swelled slightly and the capillaries that had starburst under the impact of Santana's palm had spewed out red that inked out under the skin to form the shape of Santana's palm. Instead of feeling guilty, however, it only served as a reminder to why the slap had occurred in the first place. She leaned in close to Quinn. "You have _**no**_ idea what's going on do you?" She gestured a hand in the direction that Rachel had left. "That _"thing"_ as you called her, has proven more of a friend in the past three weeks than you have in the past two years."

Santana was about to continue when she noticed that they had attracted an unwelcomed audience. Harvesting her best sneer, she spun around and snarled wordlessly. The Latina still had enough pull in the school for her wishes to be granted; immediately the crowd dispersed with individuals scurrying down the hallway in both directions in their haste to avoid the brunette's blazing glare.

Satisfied that they were alone, Santana stepped back, allowing the pair some physical distance. She crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to tap her foot as she waited for Quinn to respond.

Quinn was at a loss for words and to buy her some time, she rubbed at her sore cheek, hoping to smooth away some of the sting. "Where does Rachel fit into all of this?" she finally asked, her body seemingly deflating as the fight left her body.

Santana sighed as she too relaxed from her aggressive stance. "So you know what's going on then, do you?" She held Quinn's stare, daring her to deny it.

Quinn nodded. "I saw you and Brittany yesterday. By your locker," she clarified. "I saw you run away from her." The admission came out in a strained whisper. "I saw Brittany cry as she watched you go." Quinn winced in reaction to Santana's cringe. "She was crying so hard, San. She looked so lost." Quinn's eyes misted at the memory. "I went up to her and it was all I could do not to hug her and hold on 'til all her tears were dry." The blonde paused as she struggled to reign in her emotions. "I tried to get her to talk to me but she wouldn't. So I suggested she come over after school and then…" Quinn sucked in a breath. "Then she told me everything." She tugged a hand through her blonde locks. "She's so sad, Santana. I've never seen her so low."

"And what about me?" Santana asked harshly. "Did you ever stop to think about what _**I**_ was going through? And what about Rachel? Why the fuck did you corner and interrogate her like you did?"

"I was wrong ok!" Quinn cried out in frustration. "I spent the entire night watching Brittany toss and turn and cry and before she finally managed to fall in what I can only describe as a nightmare filled sleep, she mumbled something about you and Rachel. It's no excuse and I was being completely irrational but you try thinking rationally when it comes to Brittany!"

Santana closed her eyes, unable to deny the truth to those words. It was no secret that Quinn and herself were overly protective of the tall blonde, almost to the point where their actions could only be labeled as smothering. Only Brittany could bring out the primitive in someone. "Fine," Santana concurred, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off a headache. "But you fix this," she warned, opening her eyes to glare at Quinn. "I want you to apologize to Rachel. She didn't deserve your bullshit."

"Fine," Quinn agreed, realizing just how clinically insane her recent actions toward Rachel were. She took a hesitant step forward, a look of hurt flashing through her eyes as Santana flinched at the movement. She paused mid-step, giving the Latina the space she so obviously wanted and fidgeted on the spot before voicing the thought that was on the forefront of her mind. "Did you really tell Britt that you loved her?"

Santana's eyes slipped shut again, this time to barricade the hoard of emotions that came cantering too close to tearing down the floodgate of tears that always seemed to shatter at the tiniest nudge. Unable to motivate her vocal cords into producing sound, the Latina merely nodded.

"I don't know what to say." Quinn was staring the at the unmoving brunette with a mixture of pride and surprise. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around this new revelation.

"You don't need to say anything," Santana replied shortly. "I told her what I felt and she turned me down. Simple as that."

Quinn shook her head. "If you saw her…" she trailed off of the sentence as she attempted to structure what she was feeling. "She's hurting as much as you, San."

"Then why is she doing this? Why is she still with _him_?" Santana's voice was raw and husky, scraped bare by the pain gurgling in her chest. "Do you know just how much it hurts just to _say_ her name? Or how my heart gets ripped a new one every time I see her with him? It _hurts_, Quinn. It fuckin' _**kills**_ me."

Quinn palmed a hesitant hand down the length of Santana's arm, keeping the contact despite the guarded look the Latina threw her. "She's conflicted, Santana. Brittany's mind doesn't work like everybody else's. I'm not saying that's an excuse," she added in response to Santana's glare. "But Brittany hates hurting people. She's probably physically, mentally and emotionally incapable of violence. The very fact that she's unintentionally hurt you by staying with Arite has completely unhinged her. "

Santana blew out a sigh, hating the truth behind Quinn's words. She reached up a hand to rub at her temples. "If I had kept my goddamn mouth shut, we wouldn't be in this mess," she admitted bitterly.

Quinn shook her head as she tightened the grip she had on Santana. "Don't," she begged. "Don't do that. Don't hide behind your walls again, Santana. Just give it some time. _Please_."

"Why do you care? We haven't been remotely close since high school began and we got sucked into the drama that was Cheerios." Santana peered intently into Quinn's hazel gaze. "What's in it for you?"

Quinn shook her head again, blonde locks gently tousling around her face. "I miss this." She gestured between herself and the brunette. "I miss _us_, Santana. You, me and Brittany. The three _mouse_keteers, remember?"

Santana let loose a small chuckle that sounded dangerously like a sob at Quinn's phrasing of the word. Brittany had named the girls that, but had called it _mouse_keteers instead of musketeers. Neither girl had the heart to correct the tall blonde so _mouse_keteers it was. "I miss you too, Quinn," she admitted quietly, her voice cracking. She debated internally before reaching up to rub the pads of her fingers against the blonde's cheek, where the outline of her hand had grown more evident. "I'm sorry about this," she apologized, grimacing at the lurid shade of crimson that Quinn's face was now sporting.

Quinn grabbed Santana's hand and kissed the inside of her palm. "S'ok," she said, waving off the girl's apology. "I deserved it after what I said to Rachel." She cringed as her insults came ricocheting back with blunt force. "God, the things I said…"

"You need to apologize to her, Quinn," Santana said firmly. "Berry's really helped keep me afloat these past few weeks and as fucked up as it might be for people, we actually have become friends." A slight smirk tugged at the Latina's lips. "Only friends would put up with my shit."

Quinn released a shaky laugh. "So very true, Lopez." She dropped Santana's hand to playful punch her shoulder. "C'mon let's go find her." She turned and bent down to retrieve Rachel's forgotten backpack. "San?"

"Hmm?" Santana was quietly reveling in the feeling of warmth that had infused her body. She never realized how much she missed Quinn's friendship until she had her back and finally understood the significance of her absence.

"You're still going to have to explain to me, just how you and _Rachel_, of all people became friends." There was no sarcasm in Quinn's voice, just genuine curiosity along with a wisp of confusion.

Santana snickered as she tugged on Quinn's sleeve to get her moving. "C'mon, Q," she said as she began walking down the hallway. "I'll give you the cliff notes version."

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	9. Bruised And Battered By Your Words

**Chapter 9 – Bruised And Battered By Your Words…**

"Hey baby," Sam cooed, his breath warm against Santana's ear as he slid an arm around her waist.

Santana snarled, turned out of his embrace and pivoted away from her locker to fix a glare upon the blonde boy's face. "Hands off the merchandise, Aerosmith," she snapped, slamming her locker door shut for added effect.

Sam held up his free hand in surrender. "Alright, ease up," he said, as he backed away slightly. He repositioned the notebook he had wedged between his arm and side before returning his attention back to an obviously livid Latina. "What is up with you these days?" he questioned, genuinely curious and a tad concerned.

Santana's lips pulled back over her teeth as she emitted another snarl, this one more venomous than the last. "What _I_ get up to," she growled menacingly. "Is none of fuckin' business. So back the fuck off, Hick Boy."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Enough with the name calling." He studied the fuming brunette in front of him; if looks could kill, Sam was quite sure that he'd be six feet under right about now. That revelation, however, did not stop him from saying, "You are being irrationally immature."

Santana shot him a look of pure disbelief, in part to his statement but also to the fact that he had the balls to continue speaking. "_I'm_ immature?" Her voice had dropped to a low alto; a sign that the brunette had crossed over from livid to outright homicidal. "_I'm_ immature?" Sam internally winced as Santana repeated the question. He unconsciously shifted his books so that they now rested in his palms, in front of his jeans. He wasn't taking any chances. "You're accusing me of _immaturity_? The boy who can fluently speak some fuckin' blue alien's language that is basically made up for entertainment purposes? And _I'm_ immature?" Santana's voice held a sharp note of incredulousness.

"Na'vi, the language is Na'vi." The words were out of the blonde boy's mouth before he could click his jaw shut. This time he did cringe when Santana physically shoved him backward. The girl was unnervingly strong.

"Get out of my sight before I turn _you_ blue," Santana threatened, her voice just short of a growl.

Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes; Santana had been playing the "push and pull" game with him for the past month and whilst at first he thought she was simply playing hard to get, now he quite sure she was on some emotional bender. The Latina was as quick to pull him into a heated kiss that left him squirming in his suddenly too tight jeans as she was to outright threaten to castrate him. Sometimes he didn't understand women at all.

"Fine, I'm going," he relented, backing further away from Santana. He was just about to turn down the hallway when Santana suddenly grabbed at his arm, almost wrenching it out of its socket as she tugged him back to her and into her for a mouth-bruising kiss. Utterly befuddled at the exchange, he remained motionless for the first few seconds before instincts kicked in and he returned the kiss, sucking her lush bottom lip between his and drawing out the sweetness of her lip-gloss.

Santana allowed Sam to push her up against the locker, although her instincts were screaming blue bloody murder for her to kick him where it really hurt. There was only one reason why she was allowing the boy to touch her and even as she continued to kiss an oblivious Sam, her eyes snapped open to lock onto a pair of sapphire blues that were watching the couple with an unreadable expression.

Brittany.

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"Alright guys, take a seat," Mr. Schue offered in greeting as he strolled into the choir room, pausing only to deposit his satchel on top of the piano before turning back to address the club. "In lieu of our triumphant victory at Regional's, I'm not going to give you guys an assignment to work on this week." He held up a hand to ward of Rachel's protest. "Before you argue with me, Rachel," he paused to give her a look until she slumped back into her seat, brow furrowed. "I just want to give you guys this week to sing whatever you want. The floor is yours." He gestured around him to emphasis his point. "So, who would like to go first?"

The room was suddenly abuzz with murmurs as the group struggled to come to grips with a gift that their Glee coach did not often present them with. The curly-haired man watched with equal parts exasperation and interest as his kids whispered and bantered in hush tones. He was not at all surprised when Rachel was the first to volunteer.

"Mr. Schue –"

"I have something I want to sing."

All eyes snapped to Brittany, Mr. Schue included. The blonde fidgeted under the weight of their stares but stood up anyway. She wandered over to the band, bending to whisper into the bassist's ear. Upon his nod, she straightened and turned to walk over to Brad as the bassist passed her song request onto his band mates. Everybody watched as Brittany repeated her actions to the silent pianist, who simply nodded and cracked his knuckles.

Brittany turned back to her teammates, her face uncharacteristically impassive. "I need Santana to help me sing it," she finally announced, her voice devoid of any emotion.

All eyes suddenly shot to the Latina who visibly hunched down in her seat as Brittany thrust the spotlight onto her. Beside Santana, Rachel stiffened, as did Quinn who sat in front of the petite girl. Rachel and Quinn shared a dreaded look, knowing that this could only end in tears and further heartache but like a train wreck, they could neither stop it, nor look away. Mirroring each other, they both turned to look at Santana, then Brittany, then back to Santana.

Santana grinded her teeth, the muscles on either side of her jaw jumping against the confines of her skin. She reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, her only external sign of conflict as she contemplated her predicament. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Quinn and Rachel shooting each other panicked looks and would have found their sudden bonding comical if ill timed had she not been suddenly hurled onto the guillotine. Under the burden of thirteen pairs of eyes staring expectantly at her, waiting for her decision, Santana could not seem to find a solution out of the sinkhole Brittany had pushed her into. Digging her nails into her palms, Santana pushed herself to her feet and allowed them to function on autopilot as she made her way down to where Brittany stood waiting. She paused only momentarily when she felt Rachel's hand discreetly circle her wrist, in comfort or to hold her back, she did not know, but she lingered long enough to bestow the girl a faint, almost undetectable smile.

"Well, ok, then." Mr. Schue was pointedly ignoring the thick soup of tension that had suddenly poured into the choir room upon Brittany's request for Santana to sing along beside her. He, along with the entire school knew that there was something going on between the dancer and the Latina but unlike some, the Spanish teacher believed it was not his place to interfere unless there was a dire need to. "Take it away, girls." He walked over to plop himself in Brittany's abandoned seat, curiosity eating at his nerves as he awaited for the performance.

"What am I singing?" Santana asked the blonde curtly. She stood stiffly by Brittany's side, a noticeable distance away.

"Just listen," Brittany replied, her voice monotone. She did not bother looking at the Latina as she addressed the girl. "You know this song." The blonde nodded toward the band who immediately struck up a tune.

Santana immediately went rigid and out of sheer habit, she spun around to fix the side of Brittany's face with a vitriolic glare. Reacting immediately, Brittany pivoted to face Santana, her body repositioning gracefully with a delicate turn that came from years of dancing. Her azure blue eyes flashed cobalt fire as she silently dared Santana to back down.

Santana sank her teeth into her lower lip and bit down hard, almost drawing blood as her mind already prepared her throat to spit out the first verse. Holding Brittany's gaze, she met the blonde's challenge and opened her mouth to sing.

_Did I hear you right?_

'_Cause I thought you said_

_Let's think it over_

The music washed over the brunette, throwing open the tightly bolted doors that contained the memory of Brittany's rejection. She could still hear Brittany's voice, telling her that she could not be with her, ringing shrilly in her ears.

_You have been my life_

_And I never planned_

_Growing old without you_

Like riding a bumper car, Santana was blindsided with another memory that drove into her with brute force; this time of one where a twelve-year-old Latina promised a twelve-year-old Brittany that they would be together forever, boys be damned.

_Shadows bleeding through the light_

_Where the love once shined so bright_

_Came without a reason_

_Don't let go on us tonight_

Santana's eyes, now an intense smudge of rich coffee brown that seemed to shift and meld into pools of dark cocoa, held onto Brittany's stormy blue gaze as she sang,

_Love's not always black and white_

Her eyes never left Brittany's as she continued with,

_Haven't I always loved you?_

Donning a defiant smirk, the Latina _dared_ the blonde to deny it. Regardless of Santana's gay panic, her excessive need to strut her popularity by sleeping her way through the school and her blunt, crass nature, there was never a time where she faltered in loving Brittany. It was as natural as breathing and still came as easily to Santana as it had when they first met all those years ago. The brunette bathed in her small victory as Brittany's hands formed twin fists and her head bowed slightly. Santana's gloat did not last; the next verse of the song and the way Brittany looked at her, with such painful devastation ablaze in her eyes, all but punched the air out of the brunette's chest and sucked away her short-lived satisfaction.

_But when I need you_

_You're almost here_

_And I know that's not enough_

Brittany's voice cracked at the third line and tears pooled in her eyes, blurring the color of her pupils into a watery mess of cerulean blue that siphoned away to a glaucous shade around the center of her eyes.

_And when I'm with you_

_I'm close to tears_

'_Cause you're only almost here_

Even in song, Brittany managed to emphasis the words "almost here", sending Santana spiraling down a twisting avenue of guilt. The brunette mirrored Brittany's hands, clenching her own until she nearly winced as her manicured nails cut deep into the sensitized skin of her inner palms.

_I would change the world_

_If I had the chance_

_Why won't you let me?_

Santana deliberately changed the words, fashioning them into a verbal sword to which she then threw into Brittany's face, reminding the blonde of how she had rejected Santana's love by their lockers. The Latina's heart tore in two when the message was received and a tear fell from overflowing eyes.

_Bruised and battered by your words_

_Dazed and shattered, how it hurts_

Santana's own tears had welled and she felt no shame in letting them fall; she wasn't in the choir room singing possibly the song that would reveal every despicable stain of her dirty little secret; she wasn't being watched by her friends, teacher and team mates as she sang said song. No. She was with Brittany. Locked in a vacuum created by the intensity of their eyes, where the outside world could no more penetrate into than the sun could turn green. Through a curtain of tears, she gripped Brittany to her through the connection of their eyes.

_Haven't I always loved you?_

The lyric was barely sung, the melody only kept to conceal the truth and conviction etched in Santana's voice from the eleven witnesses that were the Glee club. She implored Brittany through this one verse, asking her to believe it.

_But when I need you_

_You're almost here_

Again, Brittany emphasized the words "almost here." This time however, she tore her eyes from Santana only to flick them onto Sam who was watching the impromptu duet with a noticeable frown and a mask of confusion. Santana followed Brittany's line of sight and when her eyes fell upon the blonde boy, her shoulders turned into granite; they were so stiff. Brittany's soft melodious voice prompted the Latina's eyes to snap back onto twin pools of dark Prussian blue.

_And you know that's not enough_

It was Brittany's turn to improvise, changing the "I" to a "you". She dropped the words onto Santana, raining them down onto the brunette with like exploding bombs and watched for the first time, with an absolutely emotionless expression as Santana visibly shrank.

_And when I'm with you_

_I'm close to tears_

'_Cause you're only almost here_

Santana squeezed her eyes shut, unable to take in the sight of Brittany, standing so close yet so far. It was as if this song revealed just how big of a gorge that stood between them, separating both girls so completely that even standing a mere three feet apart felt as though there were entire oceans between them. The knowledge of that distance flayed at Santana's already fragile heart, tearing open just one more wound that would not heal.

There was an instrumental interlude, the drums thudding heavily, echoing the dull echoes of pain that pulsated within Santana's battered heart. The soulful, melancholy notes whining from the piano twisted around Brittany's soul and proceeded to rip apart what was left.

_Bruised and battered by your words_

Santana and Brittany locked eyes once again, unable to deny the other that simple connection even though it was physically hurting the other to provide and receive such intimate contact.

_Dazed and shattered, how it hurts_

There was no denying it anymore. It _hurt_. It hurt to be near her. It hurt to see her. It hurt to _hear_ her.

_Haven't I always loved you?_

It came out as a strangled cry; Santana's voice, naturally raspy, was bruised and raw, the emotions of the song having wrangled out all her anguish and sorrow until her voice was stripped naked and bare for all to hear.

_But when I need you_

_You're almost here_

Brittany was openly crying now and she struggled to continue to sing, choking on the lyrics that spoke with a blunt truth, what her heart, head, body and soul were screaming for Santana to heart. Santana was always one step away, always just beyond Brittany's reach. And now, despite everything, despite the brunette's confession, she was still "only almost here."

_Well, I never knew how far behind I left you_

Santana's tears tracked heated paths down her cheeks even though her eyes resolutely refused to leave Brittany's. She silently beseeched the blonde to understand; she knew she strung Brittany along, pushed her away when thing got too much and pulled away when everything came crashing down. But until this song, Santana had never realized just how far behind she had left Brittany until she could not even reach back for her. The realization stung.

_And when I hold you, you're almost here_

Brittany's mind flashed back to all the times, she held Santana in her arms, always knowing that the brunette was never really hers and that being able to hold her best friend like that was simply a fantasy that could only be indulged in behind closed doors and midnight visits.

_Well, I'm sorry that I took our love for granted_

Santana had been waiting for this lyric. This one lyric that would bring down any barriers erected, any doors locked; she _wanted_ Brittany to know how sorry she was. She wanted to be able to sing this lyric with the absolute conviction of her soul. Looking now into the blonde's eyes, she found the spark of understanding. It would have eased the pressure that was pressing down on her chest if that spark had not been chained under the colossal boulder of "too little, too late." It made Santana want to scream.

_And now I'm with you_

_I'm close to tears_

Brittany looked at Santana and Santana looked at Brittany. Their eyes were painted over in a thin film of water; tears borne from deep-seated emotions that sprang loose upon the singing of this song. Neither tried to hide their pain from the other; the tears were a statement of everything they felt, a salty brand that would forever be burned onto their souls.

'_Cause I know I'm almost here_

Santana let loose a sob, her eyes tracking to Artie who sat motionless, eyes fixated on the pair. When Santana looked at him, he looked away, unable to look at her tear-streaked face or the utterly heartbroken look in her eyes that seem to shatter the brunette right before everybody to see. He knew somehow, that this gut-wrenching performance had something to do with him, with Sam, with Brittany and Santana's relationship. He _knew_. He just hid behind a vast wall of denial.

The Latina turned back to Brittany who was crying so hard that the blonde bordered on hyperventilation. Her chest caved under each sob and the dancer had to bend forward slightly, lest she topple off her feet. It was in that moment that Santana realized something; she had lost Brittany. Completely, irreversibly, unchangeably. Brittany forcing her to sing this song was a testament of that. How was Santana suppose to hold onto something she didn't have in the first place?

The sound of her heart smashing onto the floor into smithereens pierced her ears with such might that the brunette wished for her hearing to disappear. Propelled by an unseen force that was conducted by pure, unadulterated desperation, Santana stumbled forward, reaching out to grasp Brittany's hand, _needing_ to touch the blonde one last time. She clasped Brittany's hand tightly, the pads of her fingers pressing deep into either side as the blonde tried to pull away. The connection of their hands burned and fairly ignited frayed nerves as coffee met sapphire, a clash of color that was about as different as the two girls that owned them.

Looking deep in darkened blue eyes that were so easy to get lost in, Santana managed a smile at the blonde; it was a ghost of a smile that was bittersweet and structured by regret, resignation and defeat. She lifted their entwined hands, turned it so that Brittany's was facing up and reached down to brush the gentlest of kisses across her knuckles.

The gesture was grave in its finality and Brittany felt the goodbye seep from the kiss and into her chest where it now lay, writhing against the crushed walls of her heart, shrieking and howling to be released from the emotional whiplash of Santana's obvious defeat. She clutched Santana's hand to her, crushed it against her chest, hoping to salvage the impossible. Instinct told her that Santana had misunderstood; misunderstood the song and what Brittany was trying to convey. Panic had her digging her nails into Santana's hand, hoping that the pain of the action would shock the Latina back to reality. However, looking into the brunette's eyes, Brittany choked on bile and acid that had fled up to her throat when all that was reflected back from Santana's eyes were iron gates that were locked and bolted, steel mesh running in front to prevent entry. Behind those gates lay a haunted soul that was imprisoned by shackles of pain and flanked by pit bulls of detachment. Brittany was looking at Santana's version of Alcatraz; the prison she had built to lock herself away was impenetrable. She had lost her.

_Only almost here_

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**A/N –** The song used in this chapter is "Almost Here" by Delta Goodrem and Brian McFadden. I also used a lyric from this song as the chapter's title. How'd y'all find it? I can almost hear the "dramatic much?" coming from readers and whilst I admit I was embellishing the dramatic flair quite a bit, this chapter was excruciating to write. I nitpicked the song until I could nitpick no more…it was just _hard_ to write. Consequently, after listening to the song on repeat for about three hours straight, I now cannot listen o it without wanting to break something. So, hope y'all enjoyed this.


	10. Dazed And Shattered, How It Hurts

**A/N – **Well, I'm super, duper, HYPER happy today 'cuz I got my motorcycle rider's permit! Whoo! So, in lieu of that, I'm posting the next chapter. It's really a continuation of the previous chapter anyway.

Before I forget, a shout out to all those anonymous reviewers; thanks for reviewing! It sucks that doesn't have a way for me to reply to your reviews so I'm doing it here. Thanks again!

FYI, flashbacks are in Italics; I didn't want to drag out the aftermath of Brittany and Santana's duet so I propped it in here as a flashback instead of making it a chapter. Also, I took a few more liberties in regards to Santana and Brittany's families so it doesn't follow canon.

**Chapter 10 - …Dazed And Shattered, How It Hurts**

"_What…"_

"_The hell…"_

"…_was that?"_

_The choir room was abuzz with a cacophony of murmurs from the Glee kids. Each pivoted in their chairs to whisper to their neighbor, heated hisses and speculations that left four members stiffer than the stone statues they were currently imitating._

_Rachel, Quinn, Sam and Artie remained motionless in their seats, each rendered speechless and paralyzed by the emotionally charged duet that happened not mere seconds ago. _

_Rachel stared at the empty spot where Santana had stood before her eyes tracked to the where the choir door remained open, the only other indication of the Latina's departure. When the band had stopped playing, Santana had dropped Brittany's hand, swiped a defiant hand across her eyes and calmly walked out of the room, her boots making no noise against the linoleum floor. _

_Quinn's gaze threatened to drill twin holes into the spot Brittany had occupied. She glared hard at the area, eyes refusing to blink until they burned so fiercely that instinct took over and her lids fluttered down. This, however, did not stop her mind's eye from replaying what had occurred. Brittany had left the choir room in a less dignified manner than Santana, waiting only until she was sure the Latina was out of earshot and eyeshot. When her mental timer had slammed down to zero, the blonde bolted, her long legs eating up the short distance to the door. She disappeared around the corner, a flurry of blonde hair and wet tears._

_Artie sat ramrod straight in his wheelchair, hands gripping the wheels so hard that his fingers protested. Like Quinn, he stared at Brittany's vacated spot, his mind churning and tumbling over what he saw like a washing machine tossing clothes about most carelessly. That wall of denial he had so carefully constructed, bore its first crack. The crack turned into a sizeable fracture and what sizzled through that fracture stole his breath away._

_Sam, though as immobile as the aforementioned three, was oddly the only one not suffering from invidious mental turmoil. In fact, Brittany and Santana's duet had cleared his mind, bringing with it, astute clarity. As his eyes lingered over where Santana previously stood, he came to the very real realization that he never had a shot in hell with her. _

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_Later That Night_

"_Hija_?" Santana's mother, Maria, called out softly as she knocked on her daughter's door. Receiving no response, she reached down to twist the doorknob, pushing open the door to reveal Santana curled up under the covers, her near fetal position barely outlined by the thin sliver of moonlight that streaked in through the open window. Maria sighed and walked over to where her daughter slept, treading carefully so as to not waking the sleeping girl. The bed dipped slightly as the older woman sat down and Maria took a minute to study the girl who might as well have been a stranger to her. Between her long shifts at the hospital and Santana's reluctance and resistance to openly communicate with her, Maria had to surmise that the girl she shared this house with had nothing in common besides the blood that ran through both their veins.

The awareness of this saddened her and she found herself hesitating to touch her daughter, her hand poised over the sleeping girl's head. However, the sliver of silver-white light shifted in that moment to bathe Santana's face in an ethereal glow and Maria's heart constricted as the light illuminated the tear tracks that were still damp on Santana's cheeks. As estranged as they were, Maria's maternal instincts were still patent and she placed a gentle hand on her daughter's head of tousled dark hair.

Threading her fingers through the silky soft mane, she allowed herself this rare and precious moment of mother-daughter bonding. "_Carino_, I know I'm not always there for you but," she paused to gather her thoughts. "_Por favor_, _hija_, you know can talk to me. I **want** you to talk to me."

Silence. Sighing, Maria bent down to dust a kiss over Santana's cheek. "_Te querio_," she murmured. She was about to get up and leave when a hand snaked out from under the covers to encircle her wrist. Startled, she glanced down only to have Santana's dark brown eyes, so similar to her own, stare up at her. "San?"

"Mama…" Santana's voice hitched and a sniffle followed.

Maria reacted immediately and unconsciously mirroring what Tomas had done weeks ago, she sat back down and gathered her daughter into her arms.

Santana let herself fall into her mother's arms, craving the woman's unconditional love to which she was sorely deprived of even since the divorce. Her mother's perfume, one that she had worn since Santana could remember, enveloped her senses, bringing with it such a sensation of familiarity that it promoted the girl to burrow her nose into her mother's shirt, inhaling as much of as she could. Sobs wracked through her slender frame and Santana clung hard onto her mother's shoulders, afraid that if she let go, she would drown under the crushing weight of her pain and sorrow.

Maria held her daughter to her, pressing her palms tightly against the bunched muscles of Santana's back. One hand smoothed a path up and down the girl's spine through the thin t-shirt she wore. Her head bent down until it brushed the shell of Santana's ear. "_Tranquila, mi amor. _Shhh..._tranquila, tranquila._" To say that Maria was bewildered and more than a little concerned was a severe understatement but to her credit, she refrained from asking questions and simply held her daughter, something that she had put off from doing for far too long.

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"Brittany?"

Brittany was sitting on a chair positioned by the windowsill. She stared glumly out of it, her eyes glazed over with tears that she was simply too tired to shed. Upon the calling of her name, the blonde turned her head, a small smile ghosting her face when her eyes picked out her little sister standing by the door, her hair a disheveled mess. One hand gripped a tattered teddy bear that was missing an ear and the other was clenched into a fist that knuckled across sleepy eyes.

"Hey, _engeltje_, what are you doing out of bed?" Brittany whispered lovingly. She unfurled out of the chair and walked over to pick the little girl up, cradling her in strong arms.

Jaime, Brittany's little sister, snuggled deep into the older blonde's embrace. She tucked her head under Brittany's chin as her sister carried her back to where she was sitting, propping them both back on the seat where moonlight poured gently onto the pair, encasing them in a spectral white glow.

"I has a bad dream," the little girl whispered, shaking slightly as the aftershock of emotions procured from the nightmare poked at the girl's subconscious.

Brittany tightened her hold. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Jamie," she swore. She kissed the top of her sister's head, nuzzling her nose into the messy blonde waves.

"Pwomise?"

"_Beloofd_," Brittany replied sincerely.

The pair sat in silence for a while, each glad for the other's warmth and company. Brittany began humming a soft lullaby under her breath, hoping to lull the little girl back to sleep and was rewarded when Jaime started to slump in her arms, her weight sinking more heavily into Brittany's lap. Unwilling to jostle the girl, Brittany got up carefully to her feet, subtly shifting Jaime's weight so that her weight was balanced properly between both arms. Secure that her sister was not going to fall, Brittany softly maneuvered them back to the little girl's room. Nudging the door further open with her shoulder, she carried Jaime inside and slowly lay the girl down onto her bed. Jaime sighed and clutched her teddy bear closer to her, causing Brittany to smile. The taller blonde reached down to pull the covers back over her sister, tucking them in on either side. Then she reached down to brush a kiss across Jaime's temple.

"_Welterusten, engeltje,_" Brittany murmured. She smoothed back a lock of blonde hair and was about to pad out of the room when her sister called her name again. "Yeah?"

"Why doesn't Santi come over anymore?"

Brittany's heart plummeted and she swallowed hard against the tidal wave of emotions that the Latina's name always managed to bring. "She's been busy, _engeltje_," the dancer lied. "Go to sleep now."

"I miss her," came the sleepy grumble.

Brittany allowed a lone tear to track down her face as she walked out of Jaime's room, closing the door softly behind her. Once alone, she leaned her head against the door, her eyes stinging. "I miss her too," she whispered brokenly.

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_The Next Day_

Santana lay in bed, unable to muster up the will to move. Her mother, having left a few hours ago in response to an emergency at work, had given her consent for the girl to remain at the home for the remainder of the week. There were only two days left before the impending ten-day spring break so Maria did not see a problem in allowing Santana a few extra days of reprieve. However, the older woman had expressed a reluctance to leave after having played witness to seeing her daughter cry so openly the night before but when morning dawned, Santana had crawled back behind her castle walls, gruffly rebutting any attempts at further consolation. Maria had sighed, bussed a gentle kiss to Santana's forehead and left, leaving the girl alone.

Now, the Latina simply reclined amongst the covers, staring aimlessly at her ceiling. The girl had only moved twice since her mother had left; once to use the bathroom and second to switch her phone, which had been beeping and buzzing since nine o'clock to silent. She had spared the tiniest moments to see the words "Broadway" flashing from the phone's screen before shutting the infernal device up. Rachel and the world could wait. Right now, she wanted the sanctuary that was her room. This was _her_ room, _her_ space. Four walls that Santana took pride in housing her personality in and decorating it in a manner that fairly screamed "Santana." The comforting thought did not last as a song drifted from the stereo that her mother had quite unconsciously turned on as she passed by it on her way out.

_Her hat is hanging by the door_

_The one she bought in Mexico_

Santana's eyes pivoted to the hat stand that was positioned by the side of the door. Sure enough, one of Brittany's floppy hats was perched atop one of the stand's arms, the bright yellow color a bold testament to who its owner was.

_She'd never leave that one_

_So she can't be really gone_

A hot stone dropped into the pit of Santana's stomach as she stared at the hat. The hat was an invasion of her sanctuary. That hat was an invasion because it belonged to Brittany.

_The shoes she bought on Christmas Eve_

_She laughed and said they called her name_

Quite against the Latina's will, her eyes tracked to the floor and sure enough, there lay two pairs of Brittany's shoes. One was a simple pair of sneakers but it was the other that stabbed at Santana's frazzling nerves; they were a pair of dancing shoes. The brunette's pulse began to race.

_I don't know when she'll come back_

_She must intend to come back_

_What more proof do you need_

_Just look around the room_

_So much of her remains_

Unmitigated desperation began to seep into Santana's veins like ice-cold water, shocking her system into a heightened state of anxiety; this was _her_ space. And yet everywhere she looked, she saw Brittany.

_Her book is lying on the bed_

_The two of hearts to mark her page_

Santana's head whipped to the bedside table where low and behold, Brittany's frayed copy of _Horton Hears A Who_, lay, its vibrant cover lying face up, taunting her with its cheerfulness and the fact that it was simply oozing "Brittany." Santana's pulse was now a dull roar in her ears and her skin prickled.

_Just look around this room_

_So much of her remains_

"STOP IT!"

Ripping the covers off her, Santana grabbed the book, ran over to yank down the floppy yellow hat and bent to pick up the two pairs of shoes. In her frenzied haste to straighten back up to toss the offending items, her fingers slipped and dropped a shoe, causing Santana to trip over it. Vertigo knocked her over and she ended up sprawled on the floor, Brittany's possessions strewed all around her. It was like the final straw that broke the camel's back; Santana backed up against the wall, clutching the one item that still remained in her grasp; the book. Tucking her knees to her chest, she held the book to her as her eyes filled with tears.

"God, why? WHY?" The words escaped as a guttural cry and unleashed the detritus of tears that Santana had carefully walled up. Shoulders quaking under the pressure of her sobs, Santana gave into her pain and cried in the corner of her room, never feeling more alone and damaged than she did at that moment.

The girl was so lost in her own world of torment that she failed to see her phone's screen flash. It presented three simple letters that spelt: Sam.

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Brittany wandered around the house, her bare feet shuffling against the floorboards. Her hair was tousled, her drawstring pants crinkled after hours of lying on the couch in front of the television. The blonde's eyes were bloodshot, droopy from lack of sleep and rimmed with dark smudges. Her cheeks were pallid and gaunt, her mouth pursed in a tight line. With the way she looked, it was not hard to convince her parents that she was ill and could not attend school. Her father had hugged her, kissed the top of her head before heading out to work whilst her mother preheated some chicken noodle soup and left it in the microwave, informing Brittany that all she had to do was press the little green button and absolutely _nothing_ _else_ should she get hungry. Brittany had mutely nodded, accepted a kiss from her mother and a tight hug from her baby sister before watching her family head out to start their respective days.

Now, left alone to her own devices, the blonde felt the intricacies of her heartache most mercilessly. It dug its talons into her, intent on gouging scores of tattered rips through her already battered soul. It physically hurt so much that Brittany instinctively pressed a palm over the left side of her chest, hoping that the pressure of her hand would ease the ache thudding from under her skin. Normally whenever the blonde was sad, all it took was a quick phone call and Santana would be at her door, rain or shine, no questions asked. The Latina never had a problem dropping whatever she was doing to answer Brittany's request. It was just the way things were with them.

Which was why now, Brittany was at a loss. Who could she turn to to ease her suffering? It wounded the blonde terribly that Santana was the source of her turmoil and yet all her conscious wanted to do to ease the ache was to contact the person who started it all. Even after everything that had transpired between them, all Brittany wanted was Santana.

Shoulders slumping in defeat at the fact that she honestly couldn't call up the Latina, Brittany retreated back to the living room. She switched on the television only to find _Aladdin_ playing. Her eyes began prickling as an all too familiar song wafted from the television to her ears, setting off a memory that was simultaneously comforting and excruciating.

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"_Aren't we getting a little old to be watching Disney movies, B?" Santana said, her arms akimbo as she stared at the television screen a little distastefully._

_Brittany pouted. "C'mon, San. You said I could pick. And this is __**your**__ favorite Disney movie!"_

_Santana rolled her eyes. "Yes, when I was __**seven**__. We're thirteen now, Britt. We can't be going around watching Disney. It's lame!"_

_The Latina immediately regretted her outburst when the blonde's eyes filled with tears. Jogging the small distance it took to reach her best friend, Santana knelt down in front of Brittany and cupped the blonde's face in her hands. "Hey, I'm sorry," she apologized, mentally kicking herself for being the cause of Brittany's distress. "Don't cry, B. I hate seeing you cry." She thumbed away the few droplets that teased a salty path down either cheek then in a moment of pure reflex, leaned into to brush a kiss onto the corner of Brittany's mouth. "Don't cry," she pleaded._

_Brittany crushed Santana to her, turning her head so that her face was mashed up against the side of the brunette's neck. "I love you, San." An honest admission that was stark in its sincerity._

_Santana turned and dropped a kiss to the side of Brittany's head, even as her arms wound its way around the blonde quite possessively. "I love you too," she whispered back fiercely. Dropping fully onto the ground, she scooted backwards until her back hit the side of the bed. Then she turned Brittany in her arms so that the girl was sitting between her outstretched legs and facing the television. They were just in time to see the scene where Aladdin began serenading Jasmine whilst on their magic carpet ride._

_Santana grinned as an idea popped into her head. Bending down, she placed her lips against Brittany's ear._

I can show you the world

Shining, shimmering, splendid

Tell me princess

Now when did you last let your heart decide?

_Brittany smiled, a soft sweet smile that seemed only reserved for Santana. She turned in the girl's embrace, wanting, __**needing**__ to look into the brunette's eyes._

_Santana blushed slightly but continued, her alto voice drizzling like honeyed syrup into Brittany's ears._

I can open your eyes

Take you wonder by wonder

Over sideways and under

On a magic carpet ride

_Santana smiled, a lopsided grin that only Brittany ever saw. She palmed Brittany's cheek, her grin widening when Brittany leaned into her touch, eyes half-closing at the feel of Santana's skin against hers._

A whole new world

A new fantastic point of view

No one to tell us no

Or where to go

Or say we're only dreaming

_Brittany turned to bestow a kiss on Santana's thumb which was brushing across the blonde's bottom lip, the action having no coherent thought behind it other than instinct. The blonde opened her eyes and locked twin orbs of Prussian blue onto two intense mocha chips as she began to sing._

A whole new world

A dazzling place I never knew

But when I'm way up here

It's crystal clear

That now I'm in a whole new world with you

_Santana joined in, reaching down to entwine their right hands together._

Now I'm in a whole new world with you

_Brittany looked down at their clasped hands then back up into Santana's face. Using her free hand, she mimicked Santana, cupping the Latina's cheeks in the most reverent manner before resuming the song._

Unbelievable sights

Indescribable feeling

Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling

Through an endless diamond sky

_Brittany's voice was in a higher range than Santana's but not in a high pitched annoying way. In fact, when she sung, the brunette swore she saw angels, her voice was so sweet and heavenly._

Let me share this whole new world with you

_Santana ignored the rest of the song in favor of this one verse. The pair were staring so intently into the other's eyes that Brittany could make out the different shades of coffee and chocolate brown that liquefied to form some of the most striking eyes she had ever had the pleasure of gazing into. Santana, on the other hand, was busy mapping out every dip and plane of Brittany's face, her eyes roaming slightly down to memorize the light dusting of freckles across the blonde's nose and cheeks. _

"_Can I kiss you, San?" Brittany asked, her soft voice breaking the companionable silence that cocooned them. She leaned forward in anticipation, wholeheartedly sure that Santana would acquiesce to her request. If she were to be frank with herself, she desperately wanted to kiss her best friend, had wanted to for some time now and the urge had only grown stronger with each passing day._

_Santana swallowed against the lump that had suddenly found purchase in her windpipe. Panic momentarily ensnarled her but she fought the urge to rear back. She looked at Brittany, and then unable to help herself, found her eyes tracing that full bottom lip that looked delectable. Unable to form words, the Latina simply nodded. The brunette watched as Brittany tilted forward, moving at such a slow pace that it was like watching her in slow motion._

_When Brittany's lips finally touched hers, Santana forgot how to breathe. She remained stock still, her limbs paralyzed, her lungs constricted and all she could think of was how soft Brittany's lips were, how her breath smelt like roses and how impossibly saccharine sweet the blonde's lips were. Then when Brittany pressed down harder with those lips, lights starburst behind the brunette's closed eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors that pulsed with fanatic energy. The amalgamation of sensations proved too much for the thirteen year old and she began to get lightheaded._

"_Breathe, San," came the mumbled murmur as Brittany felt her best friend begin to sway under her touch. _

_Santana felt the vibrations of each word tingle against her mouth and as she let loose a pent up breath of air, she felt Brittany giggle. Pulling back, Santana hiked up a brow. "What's so funny?" she demanded, wondering if she should be insulted by the blonde' s response to their first proper kiss._

_Brittany shook her head, a little too vigorously causing her hair to flutter about in a wavy curtain of golden blonde. Santana thought she had never seen anything more beautiful. Reaching out toward the brunette again, she tugged at Santana's sleeve. "Can we do that again? But can you breathe this time cuz you're face is all red." The admission incited another giggle._

_Santana flushed and floundered in her embarrassment for a few seconds before composing herself. This time, she took the initiative and shuffled forward until their noses touched. Looking deeply into Brittany's eyes, she inhaled her scent before diving forward, pressing her lips firmly against the blonde's and lingering just long enough to saturate her mouth with the taste of roses and strawberries before pulling back, a satisfied look painted across her face as she caught side of a now blushing Brittany, who was licking at her lips._

"_Mmm…you're definitely my Aladdin," the blonde murmured, still dazed by the kiss._

_Santana laughed at the confession and reached forward to pull the blonde into her arms…_

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The ringing of the house phone jolted Brittany out of her reverie. Shocked by the sudden shrill audio intrusion, it took her a moment to get her bearings and to locate the phone. The blonde did not even realize that she had been crying until she realized that her vision was swimming in and out of focus as she tried to peer through the thin film of tears that curtained her pupils. When she picked up the receiver to answer the person on the other end, her voice further confirmed her emotional state; it was so raspy and hoarse.

"Oh…hi, Artie…"

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**A/N 2 –** Songs used in this chapter are "Can't Be Really Gone" by Tim McGraw and the Disney classic "A Whole New World" from Aladdin. Who can say no to Disney songs? I certainly can't and that's why it's in this story. It fit anyway.

Also there are Spanish and Dutch words used in this chapter; my Spanish is poor at best and I know absolutely no Dutch so I referred to Google for help. Feel free to correct me but as a guideline here's a mini translation of the words I used:

**Spanish**** – **_hija_ (daughter), _carino _(sweetheart), _por favor _(please)_, te quiero _(I love you)_, tranquila _(calm/ calm down)

**Dutch** – _engeltje _(little angel)_, beloofd_ (promise)_, welterusten _(sleep well)


	11. Clean Slate

**A/N –** Thank you to all the anonymous reviewers for leaving a comment. I truly appreciate it.

**Chapter 11 – Clean Slate**

Santana's head emerged from where it was currently buried under one of her numerous pillows. The girl had wanted nothing more than to spend the day in bed, wallowing in her self-pity and heartbreak but apparently the universe was conspiring against her. Sure enough, the doorbell was ringing again, as it had been for the past fifteen minutes. Conceding defeat, the girl kicked back the covers and rolled out of bed, grimacing as a spell of dizziness threatened to upend her. Through the fog of twinkling stars that danced before her eyes, Santana belatedly realized that she had eaten nothing the entire day. Sighing, she shook her head to clear her mind of the lightheadedness before smoothing down the hem of her wife beater, which had ridden up to reveal a toned stomach.

Trudging toward the door, she threw it open and walked out, trudging languidly down the stairs. "Alright already, _dios_!" she muttered as her doorbell emitted a series of unrelenting buzzes that behest the girl to open the door already. Extending a hand, she twisted the doorknob and yanked open the door only to find one Sam Evans on her front porch.

"Hey," Sam offered. He shifted the backpack that was slung over his right shoulder, scuffing his shoes uncertainly on the doormat he was currently standing on.

"What you want, Sam?" Santana groaned, unwilling to delve into a heated argument with the bleached blonde boy. The sun that was streaming into the threshold was causing an incendiary reaction with her nerves; it felt like red-hot needles were penetrating her eyes. Squinting against the obscene amount of light that radiated from the sun, she ran a hand through her severely mussed up hair, tousling it to an alarming state of disarray.

"Came I come in?" the boy requested meekly.

"No," Santana grumbled, knuckling her eyes. Really, did the sun have to shine so goddamn _bright_?

"Please," Sam insisted, unconsciously stepping back a bit lest the Latina revive some of her fury and decide to throw out a punch.

Santana rubbed at her temples before pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn't answer but turned back into the house, leaving the front door open. Sam took it as an invitation and followed the brunette in, closing the door softly behind him. He tracked Santana to the kitchen, watching with rapt interest as the Latina began pulling out various cooking utensils before making her way to the fridge. Out came a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, milk, butter and a packet of ham.

"You're going to cook?" the boy blurted out. He stood, bordered by the doorframe, a look of utter befuddlement coloring his pale features.

"Yes, Evans. This is what kitchens are for," Santana snapped tetchily. She cracked open a few eggs into a large silver bowl then leaned over the counter to yank a whisk off the wall hanger. With an expert flick of her wrist, she began beating the eggs, her movements smooth and efficient.

"I didn't know you could cook." Sam walked into the kitchen and dropped his bag onto the island before sliding into a breakfast stool. He watched Santana whisk the eggs until the yellows and whites blended harmoniously. Then she poured a dollop of milk into the bowl before gently churning the mixture.

"And why would you want to know?" Santana set a pan down on the stove and started it up, keeping it on a low burn. She turned back to the other culinary items lying neatly on the countertop. Grabbing the chopping board and a knife, she tore open the packet of ham and proceeded to dice the meat into small squares. She wielded the knife with and efficiency and ease that bespoke of years of practice.

"I don't know." The boy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a little unnerved by this passive side of Santana. He had never seen the girl so placid; normally she was either extremely happy, or unaccountably sad or irreversibly angry. Seeing her so, docile, was wracking havoc with his brain. "It doesn't seem like something you would know how to do."

Santana, in the midst of shaving cheese into a smaller bowl, stopped and spun around, pinning the blonde boy with her trademark glare. "Are you calling me incompetent?" An eyebrow arched high, disappearing beneath her bangs.

"What? No!" Sam fumbled for a comeback, his eyes glued to the knife that Santana had gripped firmly in her hands. A knife, whose sharp point was positioned in his general direction. One wrong move… "I just…"

"Shut it, Guppy Mouth." She resumed her actions, nodding silently to herself as she assessed the new ingredients. Putting down the knife and cheese, she made her way back to the stove, placing an estimating hand over the pan. Nodding again, she went back to the counter and pulled open a drawer before retrieving a fork and knife. She set the former aside before grabbing the butter and peeling back the cover. Digging the knife in, she fished out a generous hunk and strode back to the stove. She dropped the butter into the pan and immediately the sounds of it sizzling echoed throughout the kitchen. She coated the bottom of the pan with the butter then moved back to the counter to retrieve the whisked eggs.

"Why are you here?" Santana did not bother turning around as she poured the mixture into the pan and yanked a spatula from a tin. She scrutinized the contents in the pan, prodded it gently with the utensil before moving back to watch it.

"I want to talk to you," the blonde boy replied.

"Clearly," Santana retorted sardonically. She poked at the egg mixture then balanced the spatula on the rim of the pan. She leaned dramatically to the left, fingers extending to grab the bowl of shaved cheese and pulling it toward her. When the bowl was firmly in her grasp, she picked it up and began sprinkling it over the slightly hardened eggs, using the spatula to even it out. That done, she turned in the other direction and dropped the empty bowl into the sink. Making her way back, she picked up the cutting board, where the diced meat sat, like a pink mosaic puzzle and took it to the stove. Using the spatula, she dropped the meat into the pan then deposited the cutting board back on the counter.

"For someone who came here to _talk_, you are being surprisingly silent," Santana mocked, stopping her administrations on the pan to shoot the blonde boy a look.

Sam flicked his overgrown bangs to one side with a swipe of his hand. He watched Santana ease the spatula under the eggs, sliding until half of the base unstuck itself from the pan. Skillfully, she flipped it so that it covered the other half of the omelet then began to peel off the other side. "I want to talk about what happened in Glee yesterday." The boy held his breath, waiting for an inevitable explosion.

Santana froze, but only momentarily. A practiced eye told her the omelet was done and she reached down to fiddle with the stove's dial, twisting it back to "off". "There's nothing to talk about," she deflected. She opened an overhead shelf and scooped out a plate. Closing its door, she placed the plate gently on the countertop then slid the omelet onto it. Dropping the pan back onto the stove, Santana detoured to pick up the fork and discarded knife before making her way to the island. She set her cutlery and plate down then moved over to another shelf to retrieve a glass. Strolling over to the fridge, she pulled out a bottle of juice, unscrewed the cap and poured some into the glass before setting the bottle back to the inside of the fridge door. As an afterthought, she reached in again and snatched up a can of soda. Shutting the door with her foot, she made her way back to the island, tossing the can to Sam who barely managed to catch the flying item.

"Thanks," her said, popping open the beverage and taking a healthy swig.

"Whatever," the girl mumbled as she settled into her chair, the aroma of her meal literally making her mouth water by sliding past the seams of her lips to dance a tantalizing jig over her taste buds. Digging in, she barely resisted the urge to moan as the morsel touched her tongue.

"I think we should break up."

Santana choked on her omelet. The morsel that was doing all sorts of crazy on her senses, suddenly found itself lodged at the back of the girl's throat…sideways. Coughing hard, Santana's face took on a distinctly ruddy complexion, her eyes tearing up from the effort as she frantically tried to dislodge the now offending piece of food.

Eyes widening in alarm, Sam bolted out of his chair and wound round the island, coming to a standstill behind the struggling brunette. He pounded her back until Santana released a drawn out breath of air, gasping and heaving.

"You ok?" he asked uselessly, slowing the pounding of her back to gentle rubs.

"That you just suddenly tried to kill me?" Santana barked out, wincing as her abused throat protested. Swiping her glass of juice, she chugged down half of it to sooth the ache that had built up in her windpipe before setting the glass back down. "_Hijo de puta_," the brunette swore as she massaged her neck. "Get your fuckin' hands off me, Evans!" she snapped when she realized that the boy was still rubbing her back.

Sam snatched back his hand as though he was burned. "Sorry," he squeaked. He quickly meandered back around the island, grateful for something solid between them. Settling back into his chair, he steepled his fingers together, eyes alert as he studied the brunette before him. He was watching for the moment where Santana would snap and leap over the table to possibly throttle the life out of him.

Santana swallowed experimentally then looked up into Sam's eyes. Her eyes burned with malice. "Did I hear you right?" Her voice had dropped to its lowest register and Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand in response. "Did you just try to break up…with _me_?"

Sam gulped but stood his ground. He nodded carefully, afraid to take his eyes off the Latina. "I think it's pretty obvious from yesterday that you're feelings lie…elsewhere."

Santana slammed a hand down onto the tabletop, causing her cutlery and Sam to jump. "Yesterday," she hissed out viciously. "Did NOT happen." She jabbed a threatening finger into Sam's face. "Say it," she ordered looking his straight in the eye.

Sam steadfastly held her gaze. "No," he said softly. He was proud of himself for not letting his voice waver; he could feel Santana's anger like a palpable hammer that was just _itching_ to smite him down like the hand of God.

Santana's eyes narrowed. "_Excuse me_?" She hoped, for the boy's sake that she had heard him wrong. It had been a hellish month and the constant vacillation of her emotions swinging from one end of the spectrum only to three-sixty back into the other direction was rapidly eating away at the last microscopic shred of self-control and sanity the brunette had left.

Sam nearly faltered under the intense glare on very livid Santana Lopez. Straightening his backbone, he met the ominous hurricane that was blowing menacingly inches from him. "No," he repeated, his voice a little stronger. A movement caught the corner of his eye and when he visually moved to identify it, he internally balked. Santana had resorted to gripping the knife that seconds ago, lay across her plate, forgotten. He shifted marginally out of the knife's general direction, mentally calculating just how long it would take him to sprint to the backdoor and out.

"Last chance, Evans," Santana growled, her voice spiked with warning. Her hands tightened on the knife.

Sam gripped the edge of the island. "Santana," he sighed. "Stop it, ok? You're in love with Brittany. Just take a second to pull your head out of your ass so that you can you make things right with her."

"I'm NOT in love with her," Santana yelled. It was a lie and a pathetic one at that. The insincerity of that statement was as plain as the noses on both their faces. "I'm not," she denied weakly. Fingers dug deep into the knife she had in a chokehold.

Sam smiled sympathetically. In a split second decision, he reached over to place a hand over the one she had clenched over the knife. "You are," he said quietly. "You're so in love with her that it has you scared and running. Look at you," he paused to reiterate his point. He took in her disheveled hair, the dark circles under her eyes and her wrinkled attire. "You're a mess," he stated bluntly.

"Fuck you, you Justin Bieber clone," Santana spat out, wrenching her hand away from his. "Get the fuck out of my house!" She leaned over and shoved at his shoulders. "Get out, get out, get out!" She emphasized each command with a punch.

Sam batted the brunette's flailing arms aside but when Santana refused to desist, he encircled both wrists, and keeping them imprisoned, wiggled around the island back to the girl's side. Pulling at her hands, he tugged Santana to him, holding her in place with a firm embrace.

"I'm not in love with her, I'm not!" Santana cried. She pounded her fists against Sam's study chest. "I'm not!" Then the girl dissolved into sobs, her legs buckling under the pressure of her emotions. She would have crumpled onto the ground had it not been for Sam's arms around her. Giving up, she sank into him, dropping her head onto her shoulder and crying openly. "I'm not…" she whispered brokenly.

Sam felt his eyes prickle. Tightening his hold on Santana, he simply held the girl as she cried against him, her body assaulted with spasms as sobs tore through her. He let her cry, feeling the magnitude of her pain bear down upon him until his heart panged. Needing to sit, he maneuvered them to Santana's chair, plopping himself onto it before hauling the crying girl into his lap. She instinctively curled up into him, fisting both hands into the front of his t-shirt.

Minutes passed with neither saying a word. Santana's cries had dulled into soft sniffles and Sam merely rubbed soothing circles over her bowed back, allowing the girl to break down and recover at her own pace. Finally, Santana hiccupped and one hand unclenched from his now wrinkled t-shirt to blot the tears from her eyes.

"I love her," she confessed, her voice nothing more than a rasp. Admitting that aloud sent a wave of fresh hurt spiraling down her veins to douse her too battered heart with a new coating of pain.

"I know," Sam replied simply. He looked down at the girl, his heart aching for her. He hesitantly reached up to thumb away a few tears that clung stubbornly to a cheek, crimson from the exertion brought on by her tears. He was immensely relieved when Santana did not smack his hand away.

"How can you sit there are be so calm about this?" Santana rasped out. She peered up at Sam, reaching up to flick away blonde bangs that ran into his eyes. She wanted to look into his eyes, wanted to see if there was any ulterior motives in them. "What's in it for you?" Suspicion laced her voice.

Sam sighed. "Nothing," he reassured her. He caught her skeptical look and realized that she would not let him off the hook that easy. He sighed again. "Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," he explained sheepishly. "I watched my grandparents share a kind of love that most people would _kill_ to have even a taste of. They were together, always together." He smiled wistfully as fond memories of his Gramps and Grams blanketed his mind's eye, sending a wash of warmth down his veins. "They, like you and Brittany, met when they were really young. They did everything with each other and swore that they were never apart for more than a day. They got married straight out of high school and despite everybody, their parents included, saying that their marriage and love wouldn't last, it did." Sam's eyes took on a faraway expression. "They were together for over seventy years, Santana. Can you imagine being with someone for that long and still being able to fall a little more in love with them each day?" His lips quirked though Santana could see the sadness behind it. "When Gramps died, Grams was inconsolable. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep." A tear dangled on the edge of his left eye and he rapidly blinked it away. "Three days after he passed, she followed." This time he allowed a tear to fall lazily down his cheek, unashamed at the display of emotion.

Santana swallowed hard against the lump that had developed in her throat. In a fashion that was completely uncharacteristic, she cupped Sam's face, watching as sadness and loss played catch across his face, sagging his features into a pinched mask. "You miss them." It was not a question.

"Every day," he husked out. "They made me want to never settle for less. They made me accept the notion of soulmates because I wholeheartedly believe that that's what they were to each other. They were never afraid to be affectionate with each other, never afraid to call out "I love you" across a crowded restaurant or regale us with how they still went at it like bunnies." He laughed at the last part, causing Santana to giggle as well. "I want that, Santana," he intoned solemnly, gazing into the girl's face, the brief laughter fading as Sam's face returned to a somber inflection. "_You_ should want that too. Everybody should."

"You think I have that with Brittany?" Hope peppered the girl's voice.

Sam nodded. "Yes. I've seen the way you two interact with each other. When I first transferred to McKinley, I would always see the two of you together. You guys always seemed to be in a world of your own."

Santana slid out of Sam's lap only to collapse into the stool next to him. "But that song she made me sing yesterday…" she winced just recalling it.

"You're forgetting that she's hurting too," Sam explained. "From what I've heard, you guys were friends with benefits right?" The cringe on Santana's face was answer enough. "I think that's what she was referring to. That and the fact that one of you, most probably Brittany, suddenly realized that you wanted more but then the other," Santana looked away, confirming Sam's suspicions. "Panicked and pulled away."

"Thank you, Oprah," Santana snorted. Sam rolled his eyes. She ran a hand through her hair. "_Dios_, this situation is so fucked up."

"Is that why Brittany's dating Artie?" Sam prodded.

Santana shrugged noncommittally. "She said she loved him," she admitted bitterly.

"But she loves you too?"

Another shrug. "I guess."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Santana rubbed at her eyes. "Why does it have to be _me_ that has to do something about it?" She slapped a hand down in frustration. "I told her I loved her. She rejected _me_. And now _I_ have to be the one to do something about it?" The aggravation was a potent drug in her tone and it saturated the otherwise silent kitchen.

"Yes," came the easy reply. He waved off Santana's glare. "Don't even try that." He stood and leaned over the island to snatch up his backpack. Unzipping it, he dug around, various things shuffling and clinking before his hand reemerged, clutching a CD. "Here," he offered.

Santana took it gingerly, flipping it over. The CD was one where you could burn things onto it. "What the hell is this?"

"A compilation of love songs." Sam blushed under Santana's disbelieving stare. He held up a hand. "Hey, my mom grew up with parents that were attached to the hip. It's not entirely her fault that she developed a penchant for love songs, romantic or otherwise."

Santana shook her head. "Why does everybody seem to think that songs are the way to go?" she mused grouchily. "If you recall, yesterday's _song_ was like a serrated knife to my chest."

Sam shrugged. "We're in Glee. We express our thoughts and feelings through song."

Santana ran a thumb across the CD casing. "Thank you, Sam," she said softly.

Sam smiled and stood. He bent down to dust a kiss to the top of Santana's head. "Good luck," he whispered as he shouldered his backpack. As he proceeded to leave, Santana called out his name. He turned back expectantly.

"You're ok with this?" She gestured the space between them with a delicate wave of her hand. Part of her remained wary, wondering if he could really take the current situation as well as he was.

Sam tossed a lopsided grin. He nodded sending bangs tousling into his eyes. He dragged them to one side. "Yeah," he conceded. "I think I knew you and I were never going to go anywhere, anyway. This way, at least, we're both happier."

"You're a good guy, Sam," Santana admitted. "I'm sorry for all the shitty things I said about you and _to_ you." Guilt colored her tone.

Sam shrugged. "Water under the bridge." He twisted open the knob of the backdoor. "Enjoy your break."

And with that he was gone, leaving Santana to ponder the recent turn of events. She turned the CD in her hands, unconsciously mirroring the wheels that were spinning in her head. As she sat there, a small seed of a plan planted itself in the forefront of her mind. Feeding it were resolve and a newfound courage. Santana stood up, clutching the CD firmly in her hand. There was an air of determination about her as she began to make her way back to her room. She had a mission to fulfill.

She was going to get Brittany back.

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**A/N –** _Dios_ (God), _hijo de puta_ (son of a bitch)


	12. Listen Carefully 'Cuz I Mean Every Word

**A/N –** Flashbacks are in Italics. FYI.

**Chapter 12 – Listen Carefully 'Cuz I Mean Every Word**

_With one hand cradling her cell to her ear, the other drummed impatient fingers against the tabletop as Santana waited for Rachel to pick up the phone._

"_This is Rachel Berry. To whom am I…"_

"_I found it!" Santana cut the girl off. Her drumming fingers twitched in anticipation._

"_Clearly," Rachel deadpanned. The sarcasm was thick in her voice and evident over the phone._

"_What?"_

"_Your cell phone?" Rachel clarified. "Unless I am clearly mistaken, that is the device you are currently using to communicate with me." The sardonic bite grew more pronounced. "I am honestly relieved that you have managed to retrieved your cell, Santana, for the __**ten**__ missed calls and s__**eventeen**__ text messages I sent to said device, has gone unnoticed. I would not have been so persistent, had I not been worried about your emotional welfare after that impromptu performance with a certain lanky blonde. Given your past endeavors at curbing your psychological instability, I again, would not have been so concerned had I not been imagining scenario after scenario of you participating in puerile and asinine…"_

"Por el amor de dios_, Berry! Will you SHUT UP?" Santana yelled into the device._

"_I beg your pardon?" came the indignant squawk. "Do you not understand the ramifications of your actions or lack thereof? I spent all of last night and a good portion of this morning, beleaguered and…"_

"_Listen ankle-biter, spit that goddamn dictionary out of your mouth and come help me with this song!"_

"_S-song?" The tiny brunette was momentarily confused by the sudden change in topic._

"_Yes, Rachel. A __**song**__. You know, la, la, la, la, la?" Santana could almost hear the diminutive girl roll her eyes. "I found the song I want to sing to B."_

"_You have?" A pregnant pause. "Wait, you chose a song without consulting me first?" Rachel huffed, severely unimpressed by the progression of events._

"_Can it, shrimp. Come over."_

_Rachel sighed in defeat. "I'll be there in fifteen."_

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"Where are they? They're late; Quinn is never late." Santana paced the length of the grand stage, hands wind milling around her as she continued to ramble animatedly. "She couldn't get her to come. No! Britt _didn't_ want to come. What the hell was I thinking? Of course, she wouldn't come! I have screwed up beyond the chance of redemption! This was the stupidest idea on the planet. Screw Sam for his soliloquizing about his star crossed grandparents. Screw _you_," she paused in her rant to pinned Rachel, who was eyeing the Latina with an air of amusement. "for talking me into this! This was all a ploy wasn't it? Get your revenge by making me think I had one more chance in hell in making things right? Well, congrats Berry, you've got me quaking in my metaphorical boots and about to piss in my fuckin' pants!"

Rachel burst out into laughter, unable to contain the bubbles of mirth that were gurgling up from her throat. Upon Santana landing her another venomous glare, the diminutive girl clapped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to quell her hysterics. It didn't work; giggles still escaped from between the seams of her fingers and the petite's diva entire frame was shaking under the weight of her joviality.

"So help me, Rachel, I will _cut_ you," Santana spat out as she spun back around, her body crouched and ready to pounce on a still chuckling diva.

Rachel peeled her hands away from her mouth to reveal an ear-splitting grin, which she struggled with valiantly in order to adopt a more somber expression. She held up her hands in apology. "I'm sorry, Santana," she offered as politely as she could around the arbitrary snicker that still bypassed her self-control. "It's just," she halted to suck in a calming breath. "You went off on such a tangent that it was almost like listening to me!" A proud look graced the tiny girl's features. "Who knew you had it in you to speak in paragraphs, Lopez?"

"Shut it," the Latina growled. She lifted a finger in the other's girl's direction. "Just…don't speak. Not one more word." Obviously, Santana failed to find the humor in her current predicament. Here she was, after having spent the entire weekend with Rachel, rehearsing and preparing _the_ song only to have the gods curse her with frazzled nerves, a mocking Berry and a late Quinn and Brittany (assuming they were coming at all). Yeah, today, Santana surmised, was not a good day.

The unadulterated look of apprehension and indecisiveness on her fellow brunette's face sobered Rachel up like a splash of ice cold water to the face. She walked over to the taller girl and dropped a reassuring hand on the Latina's arm. When Santana shook her off, Rachel sidestepped and pulled her into a hug, winding deceptively strong arms around the girl's neck and latching on, refusing to let go until the tension melted away from the Latina's body and she relaxed in Rachel's embrace, her arms snaking loosely around Rachel's waist.

"That's it," Rachel soothed. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet and turned her head to press a fleeting kiss on Santana's cheek. "It's going to be ok," she promised resolutely. "We've practiced and practiced and practiced. You're ready."

Santana released a shuddering breath as she dropped her head onto Rachel's shoulder, needing the physical presence and comfort much more than she was preparing to admit. "What if she doesn't come?" The all too harsh reality of this statement was bearing down heavily on Santana and she had to bite her lip against the urge to bolt out of the theater.

"She'll be here," Rachel swore. "She'd _better_ because whilst I have some pull at the Lima Community Theater, it still took a lot of convincing for the manager to loan it to us for the afternoon. The theater _and_ the band." The petite girl threw this last sentence out as a joke, hoping to lighten the mood. She was relieved when the girl in her arms actually chortled. Pulling back, she looked into Santana's eyes. "You're ok?"

Santana shook her head. "Hell no." She held up a hand as Rachel opened her mouth to protest. "You know what I mean. I just," she trailed off and closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing away tears that came just once too often. "I want to make this right with her, Rachel." Her lids fluttered open, revealing dark brown eyes that were drowning in emotion. "But I've messed up so many fuckin' times. And everybody has their breaking point, even Britt."

Rachel nodded sadly, unable to deny the truth behind those words. She was about to offer some futile phrases of comfort when one of the theater entrance door's squeaked open, exposing two blondes. The diva gulped and next to her, Santana swallowed so audibly that Rachel was sure that the band members, who were situated above and slightly behind them in a balcony that housed the theater's instruments, could hear it. Santana blindly hunted for Rachel's hand, giving it a crushing squeeze that left the girl wincing. Rachel patted the Latina's arm in silent comfort.

It was show time.

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"Quinn?" Brittany's brows were scrunched up in confusion. "I thought you were taking me out for ice-cream," she pouted as looked at their surroundings. She came to the upsetting conclusion that this, wherever they were, was not an ice-cream parlor.

"We'll go for ice-cream later, B," Quinn smiled. "C'mere." She led the taller blonde down the aisle and deposited her down on a seat in the front row. "Stay here for a minute ok?"

"Why?"

Quinn tousled her hair in mild frustration. "Someone wants to sing you a song. So just, look at the stage and listen. Listen _closely_, Britt. Can you do that?" The smaller blonde looked beseechingly at the lanky dancer.

Brittany, still discombobulated by the current situation, shrugged and nodded. Quinn graced her with a soft smile then disappeared off to a door located on the side of the stage.

Brittany looked around; this wasn't the McKinley auditorium. It was bigger and more elaborate, the stage more pronounced. The seats were plushier, its color a deep hue of ruby red. She rubbed the pads of her fingers against the velvet armrest, marveling at its softness. When the lights suddenly dimmed, the blonde jumped and she chewed at her bottom lip nervously in response. Brittany never much liked the dark.

A lone figure walked out of the shadows from the side of the stage and Brittany squinted against the muted lighting in an attempt to unmask the person's identity. In answer to Brittany's plight, a spotlight suddenly gleamed down from somewhere behind her, right onto the person standing on stage.

"Santana," Brittany whispered, shock coloring her tone. Her body betrayed her by leaning out of the seat, to get a closer look.

Santana looked down at Brittany, seeking out Prussian blue eyes that never failed to make her weak at the knees. Locking her own eyes onto them, Santana raised the violin she had to her shoulders and steadying it with her chin, she lifted the bow that was clutched in her right hand and began to play.

A low, sweet but unashamedly woeful melody wailed out from the small instrument. Its notes rode the airwaves, drifting almost lazily throughout the theater until it came to a stop where Brittany sat stock-still. The notes danced around the blonde, gliding and slithering around Brittany until it had her attention completely riveted on the girl playing on stage. There was the gentle twang of a guitar that accompanied the violin but all Brittany heard was Santana.

Santana walked up to the microphone that was now making an appearance through a trap door at the front of the stage. When it seized movement, she herself, stopped, positioning her body in front of it. Eyes refusing to leave Brittany's she opened her mouth to sing the first verse.

_Take me back into the arms I love_

Santana's voice was naked, more bare than anyone had ever heard; blatant emotion emanating from the brunette's alto voice. It caught on well to the acoustics of the theater, which promptly amplified the Latina's voice until it was all anybody could hear.

_Need me like you did before _

Santana poured every ounce of feelings into the song, into the lyrics, into every syllable. She wanted Brittany to _drown_ in the sincerity that leaked from her voice.

_Touch me once again_

_And remember when_

_There was no one that you wanted more_

Santana's eyes bore deep into Brittany's, which were already coated in a glistening film of tears. Her heart ached at the sight but she had to continue.

_Don't go _

_You know you'll break my heart_

A tear meandered down Santana's cheek but she did not bother wiping it away. She was laying it all down, proving once and for all that she was not ashamed or afraid of hiding behind her attitude, the label that was Cheerios, social conformity or her fear.

_He won't love you like I will_

Brittany's heart all but jumped in her throat at that lyric. She felt Santana's vow and conviction from that verse like a physical entity and gripped hard at the armrest in response.

_I'm the one who'll stay_

_When he walks away_

_And you'll know I'll be standing here still_

Santana sang these three lines fiercely, _willing_ Brittany to believe the words, believe that Santana was not going anywhere. She wanted to let the blonde know that if she did run, she wanted Brittany to run with her.

_I'll be waiting for you_

_Here inside my heart_

The drums pounded, a steady hypnotic rhythm and the remaining instruments synched and meshed, climbing the acoustic peak confidently. Santana's low rasp matched the sorrowful tune eloquently and though it was hard to sing and play at the same time, the Latina juggled both actions well, her voice carrying her message through even as her violin wept anguish.

_I'm the one who wants to love you more_

_You will see I can give you_

_Everything you need_

_Let me be the one to love you more_

Brittany had tears coursing down both cheeks that were now ruddy from crying. She made no move to wipe them away, transfixed by Santana's raw performance and rendered paralyzed by the absolute pain in her heart. She was almost glad when the instruments that fed music to the song, dipped back down into a subtler decibel; a continuous hammering of her emotions from such potent playing was sure to render her unconscious.

_See me as if you never knew_

Santana was openly crying, silent tracks of tears that ran rivulets down either cheek. She was exposed to Brittany, throwing open every locked door and dropping every brick wall that she had so carefully constructed long ago. She stood on stage completely stripped of barriers and pretences.

_Hold me so you can't let go_

_Just believe in me_

_I will make you see_

_All the things that your heart needs to know_

Brittany's heart was tattooing a very painful beat against her ribs, with such might that the blonde was sure that the bones had been beaten black and blue. She saw what Santana was offering, saw it like a blinding white beacon that cut through the black night sky: herself. Every flaw, every insecurity, every promise was being laid out in front of Brittany; a reverent offering that Santana would and could offer no one else. The startling realization scared the blonde with an intensity that stole her breath away.

_I'll be waiting for you_

_Here inside my heart_

_I'm the one who wants to love you more_

Santana never once slipped in her playing of the violin. Her body moved in time to each pull and tug of the bow, swaying and dipping in time to music. Her voice remained steady despite the tears that poured down her face and the emotions that threatened to leave her hoarse. Throughout all of this, her eyes never left Brittany's.

_You will see I can give you_

_Everything you need_

_Let me be the one to love you more_

_And some way, all the love that we had can be saved_

_Whatever it takes, I'll find a way_

Santana's voice carried the truth of the those words; the lyrics were encased with veracity, so much so that they solidified around each letter like a steel casing, unbending and unyielding. They reached Brittany's ears like two-ton boulders, pounding into her eardrums with brutal force. It was all the blonde could do not to whimper.

There was an instrumental interlude and Santana focused her attention on the instrument she cradled between shoulder and chin. She dragged the bow back and forth, releasing from the violin, a pitch perfect keen that would have made the most cold-hearted man cry upon hearing the sorrowfulness that was etched into each note. Santana's hair whipped around her face as she played; a glossy mane of dark waves that accented the girl's face and brought out the intensity in her eyes. The violin moaned and waxed musical poetry, Santana teasing every last nuance of emotion of out it with a vigor and desperation that bordered on obsessive. The girl almost collapsed on stage when it was time to sing the next verse.

_Believe me_

_I will make you see_

_All the things that you heart needs to know_

Santana belted out the last line, her voice a powerhouse, chock full of feelings so raw and passionate that it ran shivers down the spines of not only Brittany but also Rachel and Quinn who were waiting in the wings for their cue. The drums boomed loudly, accentuating the lyric.

_I'll be_

A pregnant pause, marinated with agony. Then Santana unleash the full extent of her singing vocals, sure that she would never be able to sing with such openness or fervor ever again because it was putting her sanity and soul at peril.

_Waiting for you_

_Here inside my heart_

_I'm the one who wants to love you more_

_Can't you see I can give you _

_Everything you need_

_Let me be the one to love you more_

Brittany was sobbing hysterically by this point, her eyes so blotted with tears that she failed to see Quinn and Rachel creep almost unnoticeably on stage. The pair stepped up on either side of Santana flanking her but remaining a few steps behind the Latina. They began harmonizing as Santana went into a frenzied bout of playing, the bow a virtual blur in her hands as she swept it back and forth over the strings. The fingers on the fingerboards danced nimbly over the strings, never once missing their cue. Two of her fingers were bleeding, staining the tops of the strings red but Santana, awash in the haze of the music and her bottled up emotions that had exploded in the heat of the song did not feel the sting of the pain. She simply kept playing, her eyes trained on Brittany who was bent over her seat though her head remained upright, in what could only be described as an uncomfortable position because her body was fighting her tooth and nail to protect itself from the onslaught of Santana's song by wanting to curl into a fetal position.

Quinn and Rachel joined hands behind Santana's back, the other's nails digging non to gently into each other's palms, causing the newly made nail imprints to squeak in protest. Neither girl paid any attention, each needing the other to steady themselves in the pressure cooker of hopeless hope, bleeding torment, soul shredding heartache and unbearable suffering that they had willingly put themselves in. For Santana. For Brittany. They sang the harmonies, their voices a perfect blend as the band behind them tore into their instruments, pulling from each individual one, melodies that left all four girls a quivering, shaking mess.

The song ended with Quinn and Rachel belting out the last harmony, holding the note until they nearly rendered themselves cataleptic from lack of oxygen. Then, as quickly as it began, the song ended, throwing the entire theater into a silence that left their ears ringing. Rachel crumpled into Quinn's arms, spent and the blonde clutched the tiny girl to her chest, seeking comfort as well for the Latina's performance had shaken her to the core. As beautiful as it was, it was so gut wrenching that Quinn would have given her life never to see a repeat performance ever again. Huddled together, they turned to watch Santana lower the violin, her chest heaving and her arms quaking from exertion. The Latina took a tiny, hesitant step forward.

"Brittany…"

The blonde in question bolted; she all but leapt three feet into the air as she shot out of her seat, raced down the aisle and threw open the entrance door before sprinting out of the theater.

Santana watched her go with a look of patent disbelief. "Brittany! BRITTANY!" She threw down the violin, uncaring of how it hit the polished wooden floors with an echoing smack. She scrambled to the edge of the stage and was about to leap down when Quinn and Rachel grabbed an elbow, tugging her back. "Let go, let me fuckin' go!" she shrieked at the pair.

"Santana, calm down!" Quinn yelled, genuinely terrified by the wild look in her friend's eyes but refusing to let her do something she might regret. "She needs time, give her time. Let her go."

Santana roared and threw the two girls off her with such brute force that the pair staggered back. "Fuck you!" she spat out. "I let her go one too many times. I'm NOT doing it again!" With that, she leapt off the stage, landing hard on her knees with an audible thud but before Quinn or Rachel could assist her she was up and running after Brittany, heedless of her friends' shouts.

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Brittany ran hard; her long legs quickly eating up the distance it would take to put Santana behind her. However, the Latina's song chased her like a persistent ghost, nipping at her heels and breathing taunt after taunt into her ears. She was momentarily lost but a glimpse of sunlight pouring through a set of glass double doors spurred the blonde to run in its direction. She yanked open the door, almost throwing herself out. Stumbling down the steps, she almost lost her footing more than once and had to stand on the bottom step to catch her breath. The lanky blonde bent over, placing both hands on either knee as she fought to get her breathing under control. It was enough time for Santana to come barreling out of the theater.

"BRITTANY!"

The blonde flinched and made a move to run again but Santana flew down the stairs and grabbed her elbow. The blonde twisted and stumbled away from the Latina, with every intention of running.

"STOP!" Santana was at the end of her rope. She had just been flayed alive by the whips of her emotions and after throwing herself willing onto the emotional gauntlet, Brittany had the _nerve_ to run. Now, anger was at the forefront and not just any kind of anger; the livid, incensed type that stamped out any semblance of rational reasoning and thought. "Brittany, stop! STOP!" Santana was screaming at the top of her lungs as she ran after the blonde. "STOP! Don't you DARE walk away from me!" Her voice was at a fevered pitch, bordering on hysteria.

Something in the Latina's voice must have struck home with Brittany because the blonde skidded to a stop, pivoted and somehow managed to find an iota of courage to face the girl that still haunted her dreams. "Why shouldn't I walk away, San?" Her voice was quivering, jumbling letters into an almost unintelligible mumble. "Why? You've hurt me, Santana, so many times." The blonde's voice hitched and her shoulders shook in abject warning. Tears filled her eyes, marring the blue of her pupils. "It hurts here, San." She pounded her chest. "It hurts and I don't understand and…" She sniffled. "I can't do this with you." Her voice broke and Santana recoiled like Brittany had just slapped her. "I can't…"

"Didn't that song mean anything to you?" Santana tried again. She frantically waved an arm behind her, gesturing to the theater. "What, was me, exposing myself like that for you not enough? Do you want blood as well? Huh?" Anger returned and clouded her head in a crimson fog. "Is that what you want, Britt? You want me to bleed to show you that I'm not fuckin' made out of stone? Cuz I'll do it, you know. I'll jump in front of a fuckin' TRUCK if you want me to!" She stepped into Brittany's personal space until her nose nudged the blonde's. "What do you want from me?" Santana shouted. Desperation was at the forefront of her voice, oozing from every word. She reached up and gripped the blonde's shoulders. "Huh? What do you want? Tell me!" She shook the blonde for emphasis, fingers digging hard into the fabric of the blonde's shirt. "Tell me what you want goddamn it! Tell me so I can fix this! TELL ME!"

The next progression of events that occurred happened so fast that it had Santana not had been there, she would have sworn that she had hallucinated it all. That it was nothing more than a product of her nightmares.

A boy of no more than twelve came tearing down the sidewalk on his skateboard, screaming at them to get out of the way. Pure reflex resulted in Santana pushing Brittany right out of harm's way, whilst she remained in the oncoming path of the boy who stopped a second too late. The sidewalk was narrow, so narrow that neither Santana nor the boy had room to maneuver away from each other. He rammed right into the Latina who was propelled onto the ground by the force of the boy skating right into her with dizzying speed. She landed hard on her palms, the rough surface of the sidewalk tearing into soft skin, ripping open cuts that immediately wept red. Something sharp collided with her knee tearing open a hole in her pants only to wedge itself in the skin it found there.

So caught up in her own dilemma and the boy who was moaning next to her, the wheels of his upturned skateboard still spinning, she almost missed Quinn and Rachel's screams from the theater's entrance. The screams were of such terror that it sent a stake through the remainders of her heart, splitting open every possible worst case scenario that a scream like that could cause. She whipped her head around just in time to see Brittany standing in the road, her eyes open in sheer panic at the car that came careening around the blind corner, right where she stood.

The car honked, a drawn out screech that sent birds flapping out of nearby trees in fright.

Tires squealed in alarm as the brake was slammed down by a booted foot.

There was a sickening crash and a dull thud of a soft body impacting something solid.

Metal screamed and crunched, folding in on itself.

Glass shattered, the sound piercing the air. Smithereens of it rained down on the asphalt like cracked crystals.

A flurry of blonde hair splayed out momentarily in the air, defying gravity. Accompanying it was a series flailing limbs that spun and twisted like a ballerina jumping into the air to execute a double spin.

Another dull thud as Brittany's body dropped onto the hood of the car, rolling a little before coming to a halt on the edge.

One arm extended out from the prone body, fingers fanned open, a dark liquid trickling off three fingers to drop on the road with a disturbing "drip, drip."

Santana's mind grinded to halt. Her lungs failed her. Her heart stopped. She only managed one word.

"Brittany?"

The blonde did not move.

"BRITTANY!"

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**A/N 2 –** Song used in this chapter is "To Love You More" by Celine Dion. _Por el amor de dios _(for the love of god)

**A/N 3** – Who wants to crucify me for writing this chapter? *hides*


	13. The Dominos Effect

**A/N –** It's kind of a filler chapter but I needed to get these scenes out of the way before I get into the _other_ stuff. Besides, I kinda owe you guys after writing what I did in chapter 12.

**Chapter 13 – The Dominos Effect**

"_Sir, I need a statement from you." A burly policeman was towering over the car driver, who was squatting on the curb, trying in vain to regulate his breathing. _

"_I don't…I don't know what happened," he wheezed out. He winced as howling red lights flashed in the distance, reminding him once again of the events that had occurred not mere minutes ago. _

"_I understand this is hard, but I need you to recount the accident," the uniformed officer said, not unkindly. He whipped out a notepad and had a pencil at the ready. "Start at the beginning."_

"_I…" The man wrung his hands. "It's like she came out of nowhere," he whispered. "It's this damn turn, it's always been too fuckin' sharp. Had I been going faster, I think…I think I would have killed her." The admission came out as a strangled garble. The man paled as his brain caught up to the words his mouth uttered and he reached up to grab the bill of his baseball cap, yanking it swiftly off his head only to begin strangling the inanimate object fiercely in his hands. "Oh my god, please tell me I didn't kill me." He leapt up and grabbed the policeman by the lapels of his shirt. "She's not dead, is she? Please tell me she's going to be ok!" The man was shaking, minute tremors wracking havoc throughout his frame._

"_Sir, you need to calm down." The policeman extracted himself from the stricken man. "I think you need to come down to the station with me. Jack!" A lightly muscular man, dressed in a rookie's uniform, appeared at the officer's side. "Please escort," he paused to scan his notes. "Mr. White down to the station. We need a statement from him and as of right now, he's not emotionally stable to give us one."_

"_Yes, sir," the rookie cop replied, snapping quickly to attention. He moved forward and bent down to tug at the man's elbow, a little surprised when he was met with no resistance. He walked the man to a nearby police car, a little unnerved when he began muttering under his breath._

"_Please, let her be ok. God, she's somebody's little girl, I can't have that on my conscience. I can't. I can't…"_

_The rest of the man's rambles were cut off when he was eased into the back of the police car and the door gently but firm closed after him._

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The ambulance barely came screaming to a stop when a team of medics came fluttering through the ER's patient unloading doors.

"What have we got?" A nearby doctor, decked out in white lab coat, with a stethoscope adorning her neck asked.

"High school student. Female. Full frontal collision with a car," the paramedic driver grunted as he rounded the side of the ambulance to throw open the back doors. Instantaneously, his team, who was working hard on keeping the unconscious blonde's vitals stable, sprung into action. One held a rebreather over Brittany's mouth and nose, pumping furiously and the other had both hands clamped over the blonde's right thigh. Somehow, they managed to wheel their patient out of the ambulance and into the hands of the waiting medical team.

Nobody noticed Santana, who was holding Brittany's hand in what could only be described as a death grip. The Latina was deathly silent, eyes glassy and cheeks drained of their natural pink tinge. Somewhere along the ride, one of the paramedics had thrown a blanket around the girl's shoulders and it now hung limply around the brunette like a cape.

"What's her status?" the same doctor barked. It was obvious that she was taking point. She gestured for her team to take over and the change of hands was as efficient as it was quick.

"Concussion. Multiple lacerations to the face, neck and arms. Fractured collarbone. Broken arm and wrist. Her femoral artery's been punctured by glass debris and she's losing a lot of blood. I've been through one compress already. Contusions on the upper and lower torso with possible signs of internal bleeding. Patient is unresponsive," the aiding paramedic rattled off emotionlessly. Years of being in this line of work had hardened him; he had to remain emotionally detached or risk severe mental and emotional deterioration.

"Shit," the doctor swore. "She's too fuckin' young." Shaking her head, she ran in after her team, who were already making a beeline toward the elevators. "I want OR 1 prepped and ready. Tell them we're on our way," she commanded a nurse behind the front desk who was already cradling the phone receiver to her ear.

"Honey, are you ok?" A hefty nurse had finally noticed Santana; the girl was following the doctors, feet moving on auto-pilot and her hand glued to Brittany's in such a manner that it looked as though she were an extension of the unconscious blonde. The nurse's brow knitted in concern and placed a placating hand on the girl's rigid shoulder. "Is this your friend, honey?" she asked, her voice a low, soothing burr.

Santana did not react. Did not respond. Her head remained bowed, eyes never wavering from Brittany's all too pale face.

The lead doctor chopped a hand for attention, effectively cutting off the one-sided conversation. "We need to operate now. Let's MOVE people!"

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Quinn dragged Rachel through the hospital's main entrance automatic doors, the smaller girl struggling to keep up with the fanatic pace of the blonde's longer legs. Quinn unceremoniously hauled Rachel up to the front desk, dropped Rachel's hand and slammed a hand down onto the table's surface, startling the nurse.

"A high school student was recently admitted," the former head cheerlead barked, her tone brooking no nonsense. "Where would they have taken her?"

The nurse squinted at the pair from behind round glasses that seemed to magnify her already saucer-like eyes. "Are you family?"

It was an inane question and apparently the wrong thing to say. Quinn leaned forward and grabbed the nurse by the front of her shirt, causing the older woman to squeak in protest. "Where. Did. They. Take. Her?" Each word was enunciated slowly, with razor-sharp precision. Umbrage dripped off each syllable and combined with the fire blazing in Quinn's eyes, the nurse was hard pressed not to cower before the infuriated teenager.

"Operating rooms are on the second floor," she pointed out, her voice at an unnaturally high decibel. She heaved a sigh of relieve when Quinn released her, sending her toppling back into her chair. Regaining an ounce of decorum, she smoothed out the wrinkles on the front of her shirt, clearly miffed at being shown such little respect.

Quinn ignored the nurse. She pivoted and turned briefly to face Rachel, only to snare the petite diva's hand again and tugging her towards the set of elevator doors that gleamed a shiny silver hue at the end of the hallway.

"Quinn!" Rachel shrieked. She pulled at the blonde's arm, the one whose fingers were currently latched onto her own in a vice-hold. "Quinn, stop dragging me around. I am perfectly capable of walking!"

"Walk faster," was the only response Rachel got. Again, the smaller girl found herself skidding to a stop, almost colliding with the wall had Quinn not yanked her back. Rachel watched, worried beyond comprehension as Quinn's palm repeatedly depressed the elevator button. The almost serene calm hanging around Quinn was more distressing and frankly _terrifying_ to Rachel then seeing a Quinn who had no qualms with tossing her attitude about and sneering down at people she deemed unworthy. _This_ Quinn, this all too quiet Quinn with her ramrod straight back and an almost bored expression, was making the electricity in the air crackle and sending a jet of arctic cold trepidation whooshing down Rachel's veins.

When the elevator doors yawned open, Rachel meekly allowed herself to be jerked inside. She watched silently as Quinn's hand slammed down on the button marked "2" then proceeded to observe the elevator doors close. What was supposed to be a few seconds journey up to the next level, felt like an eternity to Rachel. Quinn's ominous brooding and her taciturn façade was making the down hairs on Rachel's arms stand erect. It was as if all of Quinn's bottled up emotions were radiating out of her pores and in this suddenly all too small confinement, they pressed up against Rachel, pushing against the boundaries of her personal space and looming over her like a menacing specter.

Rachel squirmed uncomfortably. The silence was unbearable; it was akin to being bombarded by pinpricks of needles that were zooming in on her from all possible directions only to drive its sharp points into the most sensitive areas of her skin. Rachel was about to burst out of skin; her scalp tingled and her heart thudded unnecessarily loud against her ribcage. "Qui…"

The sound of the elevator doors opening cut Rachel off. It chirped open, revealing a hallway that was thrown into pandemonium. A small contingent of orderlies were running down the hallway, flanked by two blue uniformed security guards. The two nurses stationed at the front desk were leaning over the counter, fighting to get a glimpse of the chaos that was emanating from the end of said hallway. Patients and visitors alike all bore similar expressions of fear, confusion and pained recognition.

This time, Rachel was the one who hauled Quinn out and what she saw had the brunette prying Quinn's iron-stiff fingers off where they had found purchase around her slim wrist. She fairly tossed Quinn off her as she began to run right into what seemed like a reenactment of a warzone.

"Santana!"

The Latina was amidst the bedlam that was yelling hospital staff, crying patients and fist-shaking visitors. Santana herself, was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was in a dizzying disarray, flying about her head like a an onyx black halo as she screamed and tossed her head back and forth. Tears adorned her cheeks, streaking down unnaturally pale cheeks in an alarming manner and her mouth was agape, lips pulled taut against her teeth as she screeched out curse after curse.

The orderlies that had zipped past the elevator were upon her in seconds, each of the three gripping a flailing arm, elbow or leg. The brunette in question went wild in response, bucking in their grasps and throwing out punches and kicks in any direction deemed possible. A blue uniformed guard stepped up behind her and she immediately whipped back her head, smacking him right across his mouth. A spurt of red exploded as the guard's lips split, sending a torrent of red spitting out from the torn skin. Another curse followed, this time from the guard.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" Rachel was crying even as she ran towards the madness. She came to a grinding stop in front of one very burly orderly and latched small but determined fingers on his bulging bicep. "Stop it, you're hurting her. Let go!" She batted at his shoulder to no avail.

"BRITTANY!"

The way Santana ululated the blonde's name struck fear into everyone within a one mile radius of the brunette. It was a scream so tainted with terror, so unbridled in its anguish that it simultaneously caused several beating hearts to skip a beat. It made Rachel's blood run cold and when she heard Santana scream Brittany' name again, she clamped both hands over her ears, trying in vain to block out the inhuman cry.

"Santana!" Quinn had arrived and pale and shaken as she was, she reiterated Rachel's previous actions and proceeded to try to throw the orderlies off Santana. She pummeled the nearest one's arm, years of Cheerios practice giving her enough muscle and power behind her punches that the orderly was forced to turn his attention to her.

"Brittany! BRITTANY!"

Santana would not cease. She bellowed the blonde's name, over and over. It was a frenzied mantra that had was driven by an age-old instinct that pushed everything that primitive in a human being to the forefront of the brunette's mind. She screeched out Brittany's name again, twisting valiantly against the restraints of what seemed like dozens of hands holding her in place. Her arms flayed, fists cocked and hitting whatever it could find. Her legs thrashed violently, kicking and pushing at whatever solid matter it came into contact with.

Rachel was the one who saw it coming, saw Santana's elbow that was heading in Quinn's direction like she was watching it from underwater; the movement seemed so slow and drawn out. She pushed Quinn aside with every ounce of strength she had left in her and the blonde suddenly found herself losing her balance, crumpling to the floor. The elbow suddenly sped up, as though someone had push the "fast forward" button. It connected viciously with Rachel's face and she flew backward upon impact, landing hard on the linoleum floor, the back of her head smacking the hard ground with an audible _**crrrack**_ that made the surrounding individuals wince. Rachel did not move.

"RACHEL!" Quinn's scream briefly conquered that of Santana's.

"BRITTANY!"

"Rachel, wake up!"

"BRITTANY! BRITTANYYYY!"

The two names blended in the air, distorted into a wretched keening noise that made eardrums rattle and hearts bleed. Quinn was screaming Rachel's name over and over and Santana was a blur of wind milling arms and legs, Brittany's name tearing out from her throat in such a raw display of desperation and grief that it sounded nothing more than an unearthly shriek.

More hospital staff arrived at the scene, having been called to contain the situation. As one cohesive unit, they descended upon the trio like an angry swarm of bees, hissing and barking commands that fell onto deaf ears.

It was a sight that nobody in that hallway would soon forget.

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"Where the hell is my daughter?"

The nurse situated behind the front desk jumped as a voice boomed through the otherwise silent corridor. She looked up at the annoyance only to find a disheveled man marching toward her, a look of barely concealed unveiled panic marring his face. The man's hair was a messy of golden blonde waves, locks of it tumbling over a high forehead and overgrown wisps teasing the collar of his shirt. His tie was askew and hanging haphazardly over his neck as though it had been tugged and strangled repeatedly. Cornflower blue eyes sat atop sculpted cheekbones and they blazed with questions that _demanded_ answering.

"Sir, you need to lower you voice or I'll have security escort you out," the nurse pointed out mildly. She dealt with individuals like this on a daily basis; it hard receiving news that your loved ones were hospitalized but that did not mean she was going to simply sit there and be yelled at.

Frank Pierce smacked a fist on the countertop, sending a sheaf of papers flying. The nurse squeaked in indignation but he ignored her disapproving glare. "I get a _call_," he hissed out angrily. "That _my_ daughter got hit by a goddamn _car_." He leveled a gaze at the nurse who, despite her calm demeanor, felt a shiver snake down her spine. Those impossibly blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through her. "If you don't give me the information I need right _now_, I am going to sue this shithole of a hospital into such a massive pile of debt, that it will never recover."

The nurse did not doubt the seriousness of that threat. "Your daughter's name?" she asked quietly, fingers poised over the keyboard.

"Brittany Susan Pierce," the man chewed out. His fingers twitched impatiently where they lay on the countertop, itching to form into fists and ram it through something solid. Preferably the man who had the indecency to run his little girl over.

"Ah, the high school student," the nurse answered. "She was brought in not forty-five minutes ago, sir. I'm afraid she's still in surgery. I can't give you any more details until they're done." She stood and pointed down the hall with her index finger. "She's in operating room one. Perhaps you'd like to take a seat? Also, I need you to fill these forms out." She lifted a clipboard and dropped it gently on the counter.

Frank growled, a low rumbling at the back of his throat that sounded like a mini freight train. However, he restrained from uttering another word as he snatched up the clipboard, plucked a pen from its holder and began furiously scribbling, pausing intermittently only to flip over a page. Finally, he finished by signing his name at the bottom of the last page with a flourish then pushed the clipboard back to the nurse. He glanced down at his watch and scowled when the face reflected that only five minutes had come and gone.

"Thank you sir," the nurse offered, taking the clipboard. His only response was a grunt and as he began to move away, she called out to him. "Sir?" Frank turned back, disgruntlement chasing across his face. "There were three other students that accompanied your daughter. They were not involved in the accident, per say but they did cause quite a scene at the hospital earlier on." She clucked her tongue in disapproval at the mere mention of the mayhem.

Frank's eyes narrowed. "Was there a girl of ethnic descent?" He already knew the answer but he wanted the nurse to confirm it.

The nurse jerked her head in a sharp nod. "Yes, sir. She's Maria Lopez's kid. All three girls are currently housed in room 204 should you wish to pay them a visit." She pointed down the hallway again, this time with a pen that was clutched between her thumb and forefinger. "It's the third door on the right."

"Thank you," he nodded curtly and proceeded to walk in the direction the nurse had highlighted. It was time to find some answers.

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Frank pushed open the door to room 204, only to come face to face with his colleague and fellow attorney, Hiram Berry. He blinked in surprise. "Hiram?"

Hiram, a short, bespectacled man, offered the taller man a worn smile. "Frank," he said in greeting, reaching out to shake the man's hand even as he ushered him back outside, closing the door to the room softly behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

Hiram jerked a thumb behind him, gesturing to the closed door. "My daughter is in there." He ran a tired hand under his glasses.

"Is she ok? What the hell happened? I wasn't even aware that our daughters were friends," Frank fired out, irritation stenciled into his tone of voice.

Hiram rubbed at his balding spot. "The girls were at Lima Community Theater. A Glee related project or something." His brow furrowed as he recounted the statement Quinn had given to the police officers that were bombarding the poor girl with questions. Something about the story did not sit right with Hiram, judging from the way Quinn kept squirming in her seat but as of right now, he didn't care. "Apparently, Brittany and Santana were out on the sidewalk. They were engaged in an argument of some sort and then this kid came pelting down toward them on his skateboard. Santana pushed Brittany out of the way to avoid getting hit but Brittany ended up in the road."

"Shit," Frank muttered. He tugged a frustrated hand through his features, sending tufts of blonde hair poking out through the cracks of his fingers. "And the driver?"

"He's at the station, last I heard." When Frank made a move to leave, Hiram placed a calming hand on the man's arm. "It was a series of freak accidents, Frank. Don't do anything rash."

"My daughter is lying in the operating room, possibly fighting for her life," Frank yelled, finally losing his composure. It slipped from the hands of his self-control like a satin sheet, falling and pooling into a puddle on the floor. "How do you expect me _not_ to do something rash?"

Hiram tightened his grip on the arm that was now bulging, corded muscles jumping against the confines of bronzed skin as Frank clenched and unclenched a tightly formed fist. "Waiting is hard, Frank," Hiram said softly. "But speaking as a father too, you don't want to not be here when those doctors come bearing news of Brittany now, do you?"

Frank gritted his teeth and let loose an exaggerated breath of air. He nodded tersely. "Is Santana in there?"

Hiram nodded but there was something in his eyes that caught Frank's attention. "What?"

Hiram's shoes shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm guessing Santana and Brittany are close because the former let loose Armageddon in the hallways, trying to get to Brittany after they wheeled her into the OR."

"Good," Frank stated firmly. There was not a shred of humor in his voice, only a deep purr of satisfaction. He pushed past a startled Hiram and opened the door, coming to a screeching halt when he saw Santana…restrained to the hospital bed. "What the hell?"

He pointed a livid finger to the Latina. "Whose stupid idea was that?"

Hiram dropped a cautious hand on Frank's rigid shoulder. "She was hysterical, Frank. She split open a guard's lip and kicked, hit, bit and scratched a number of orderlies and hospital staff. They had to sedate her to calm her down." He left out the part where Santana had quite unintentionally elbowed his daughter in the face.

Frank shook off Hiram's hand and strode forward, pressing the "call" button situated above the unconscious Latina's head. When a nurse poked her head into the room, Frank pointed at the restraints. "Get those off," he demanded.

The nurse furrowed her brows. "I am under strict orders to…"

"OFF!" the blonde man barked, losing his patience. The sharp spike in his voice, rising several decibels, echoed throughout the room, rousing a sleeping Quinn and Rachel, both whom Frank had failed to notice upon entering the room.

The nurse frowned but complied, maneuvering past an incensed Frank to release the still unconscious brunette from the restraints. Done, she tossed the blonde man a severe look before leaving without a word.

Hiram, who had retreated back to where Quinn and Rachel were ensconced on a chair and bed respectively, hovered protectively over the girls as he watched Frank smooth back stray locks of Santana's hair. He watched as Frank bent to ghost a kiss over Santana's forehead, murmuring words into her ear. The shorter man's curiosity was piqued but before he could attempt to ask Frank what his relation to the sleeping girl was, a harried looking doctor knocked on the door and walked in.

"Is there a Mr. Pierce in the room? The doctor looked around expectantly, sharp eyes falling onto Frank. "I have some news about your daughter."

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**A/N – **I know, I know. It's another cliffhanger. But I had to do it or else this chapter would have been waaay long. I promise to upload again ASAP.


	14. All Wrapped Up In Blue

**A/N –** Thank you to all the anonymous reviewers. Your support is greatly appreciated. Alright, my medical knowledge is pathetic at best so there's probably a lot of inconsistencies with regards to Brittany's injuries and the severity of her condition. Just, pretend it chalks up to reality, ok? Lol.

**Chapter 14 – All Wrapped Up In Blue**

Four pairs of eyes snapped onto the doctor with palpable force. Anticipation from each individual radiated off their bodies, curdling in the air until it was a tangible mass that weighed down heavily on each person's shoulders. Its presence was a terrible one, all spite and malice, teasing taut nerves and sending hearts into a tumult of erratic beats and pained pulses.

Frank felt his composure slip through his fingers like water through a sieve. Needing some semblance of decorum, he forced himself to focus on the hand that was carding soothing fingers through an oblivious Santana's thick dark mane, the action almost unconscious in nature and speaking volumes, his unashamed affection toward the girl. "My daughter?" he croaked out, hating how his voice broke in places. The immensity of the current situation was finally catching up to him and like the backlash of a snapping rubber band, it struck off against the blonde man's frazzles nerves, zipping down his veins to gnaw at his soul. His initial anger, which he had purposely hidden behind to strengthen his self-control, had fizzled out, leaving behind a congealing mess of desperation, grief and pain. Now, all he wanted was for the doctor to tell him that his little girl was going to be ok.

"My name is Dr. Adrianne Kennedy," the doctor introduced herself. "Ms. Pierce's primary physician." She was unaffected by the lack of response or acknowledge by the small party. "The patient suffers from three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone. Her left arm, wrist are also broken, and she had several contusions and lacerations resulting from the impact. Her right ankle is also sprained."

At the other end of the room, Quinn made a pained noise, a choked whimper that caught in her throat, causing Rachel to fumble quickly for the blonde's hand, squeezing tightly. Hiram reacted by moving even closer to the girls, almost as if his mere presence would shield the pair from further emotional cudgeling.

At the front of the room, Frank remained motionless, paralyzed by the doctor's words. His brain fought fanatically with each sentence, trying in vain to tease out any grain of intelligible information that would allow him a peace of mind. However, the gray matter in his skull was severely being compromised by the grave expression on the doctor's face. "There's more, isn't there?" He felt faint, almost as if gravity had escaped the room and he was floating on a suspension of helplessness and undiluted fear.

Dr. Kennedy nodded. "The patient –"

"Brittany, her name is Brittany," Quinn interjected fiercely. Rachel tightened her grip, almost crushing the blonde's fingers.

"–has a ruptured spleen causing some internal bleeding into her abdominal cavity," the doctor continued impassively. "A glass shard also sliced into her right thigh, nicking her femoral artery. The patient is lucky that it did not cut deeper but even then we had to use two bags of blood to stabilize her. As we speak, my team are moving her up to the ICU on the third floor. The next twenty-four hours are critical; we need to monitor her internal injuries and be on the lookout for infection."

"I want to see my daughter," came the quiet demand. Frank straightened to his full height and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Can we see her too?" Rachel piped up.

The doctor shook her head. "Family only."

Immediately, the two girls opened their mouths to protest.

"That's not fair!"

"We're her friends, we should be able to see her!"

The doctor shook her head again. "The patient needs her rest. You may see for five minutes," she addressed the last part to Frank. "The rest of you may visit her later."

Rachel deflated back onto the pillows and Quinn looked equally put out. Frank, noticing their dejected postures announced, "I'll report back to you guys."

With that, he walked out after the doctor, leaving behind, a room filled to the brim with tension that seemed to choke the very air.

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"Quinn?" Rachel looked down at the blonde, a question burning on her tongue but she had waited until her dad had left the room to call her other dad.

It was a struggle to lift her head for it felt as though her skull had been injected with lead. However, she valiantly looked up into a pair of chocolate doe-eyes that were bright with questions.

"What?"

"What was that, with Santana and Brittany's dad?" The diminutive girl fidgeted slightly under the covers, a tad uncomfortable fishing for information about someone who lay not four feet from her.

Quinn dropped her head back onto the edge of the bed, the springs in the mattress causing her head to bounce slightly before coming to a standstill. "Santana is really close to Brittany's family," came the garbled reply, the blonde's voice so muffled by the blankets that Rachel had to strain her ears to make sense of the jumble of words that Quinn was muttering. "She's always been a constant feature at their house, especially after Santana's parents finalized the divorce and her dad moved out. Her mom was always picking up extra shifts in the hospital so Santana spent a lot of her time at Brittany's house." There was a trace of bitterness to Quinn's tone, wholly detectable despite the position of Quinn's mouth. "Her mom was never around." She suddenly lifted her head again and Rachel was semi-startled to see the blonde's hazel eyes blaze with righteous fire. "Hell, she's not here _now_. This is her workplace; you would think that she would find a spare moment to come up to check on her grieving daughter!"

"She's two hours away at a retirement home, helping them cope with the staff shortages," Rachel supplied quietly. Santana had filled her in on her mother's whereabouts when Rachel had been over at the Latina's house, helping her with the song.

"That's no excuse," Quinn hissed. "The hospital would have notified her by now and yet San's phone is still silent. Not a text message, a phone call, nothing."

Rachel did not have an adequate reply to that. She decided to maneuver the conversation away from Santana and her strained relationship with her mother. "So, judging from Mr. Pierce's open display of affection toward Santana…" She trailed off, not knowing how to complete that question.

Quinn smiled a watery smile. "You know how Brittany can sometime be a bit…dreamy?"

Rachel laughed at the politically correct way Quinn was describing the loveable but sometimes ditzy blonde. She nodded.

"Santana and Britt's dad formed a really close bond with each other over how protective they are toward Britt. I mean, I'm protective of B too but the way those two are with Brittany, it's almost…"

"Primal?"

Quinn's brows scrunched as she flavored the word, swishing it around her taste buds in contemplation before nodding her approval. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Britt's dad knows he can trust San with her safety and care and as a result they got really close over the years."

"Hmm…" Rachel offered. One hand reached up to rub some tiredness from her eyes but when her knuckles came into contact with bruised skin, she gasped at the pain washed over like a splash of arctic water. "Oh wow, that is offensively excruciating," the brunette grumbled, letting her hand fall back onto the bed where it rebounded once before settling back down.

Quinn shook her head, gazing up into Rachel's face, her eyes sweeping over the discolored and swollen skin. Hues purple-black, gray-blue and yellow-green were already creeping up over Rachel's nose and down the side of her eye and cheek. It was like a mismatched patch quilt pattern had taken purchase over part of Rachel's face. "Your face looks like a palette of paint exploded onto it," the blonde said softly, though not unkindly. "What were you thinking, putting yourself in harm's way like that?" The blonde was truly mystified at Rachel's sudden show of bravery.

Rachel shrugged, coloring a little in embarrassment. "Perhaps the heat of the moment caused me to produce an act of heroism. I shall wear my shiny new injury with a sense of pride," she joked, trying to inject some humor into her voice.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You'll definitely be wearing that injury for a while, Rachel," she deadpanned. "Thank you though," she said again after a brief pause. Sincerity rang loudly in her voice.

Rachel blushed and ducked her head. "You're most welcome."

The pair sat in uncomfortable silence, unsure of how to deal with their newfound friendship. Rachel was about to open her mouth to offer an icebreaker when a groggy moan from the other bed caused the girls to turn around.

Santana was waking up.

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Santana felt like her mouth had been stuffed with cotton, soaking up any last trace of saliva and leaving behind a desert dry hole in her face. Her head was fuzzy and it seemed alive given the odd buzzing that was taking place inside her skull. It actually felt as though a hive of bees had taken to residing in her head. The very thought made her skin crawl. Her wrists felt oddly sore and chaffed too and every muscle in her body protested each slight movement. Groaning, she sat up and dug both hands into her hair, attempting to massage away the aches.

"San?"

"Not so loud, Q," Santana whimpered. "I think I have the mother of all hangovers." She chewed at her bottom lip, eyes still squeezed shut and her brows knitted in pain.

Quinn and Rachel exchanged looks then padded over to flank either side of Santana's bed. Rachel placed a cautionary hand on one of Santana's arms. "Santana? Do you know where you are?"

"Hell?" Santana grumbled tetchily. "I must be, for you're in my space."

Rachel rolled her eyes and jerked a chin in Quinn's direction, asking her to try. Quinn took one look at Santana and decided not to beat around the bush. Instead, she went straight for the jugular. "You're in the hospital. You roughed up a whole bunch of hospital staff. You wanted to get to Brittany. She's here because a _car_ hit her. Remember now?"

Rachel winced at the straightforward tone, then cringed and instinctively tightened her hand on Santana's arm when the girl went statue stiff under her hold. "Quinn," the tiny brunette hissed. "Bombarding her with recent events is not conducive to our health or Santana's fragile state of mind!"

Quinn huffed and sent her arms akimbo even as she stared defiantly at Rachel.

Santana's head was spinning; it call came back to her. Her singing the song. Brittany running out. Santana chasing her. The argument. The kid and the skateboard. The car accident…

"BRITTANY!"

"Oh my god, not again!" Rachel cried out. In a desperate move, she leapt on top of Santana, effectively pinning her to the bed. Then, shocking herself and Quinn, she reached down and slapped the struggling Latina hard across the face, the sound of it echoing clear across the room. "Santana Lopez! You will calm down this instant because if you don't you'll not only get yourself kicked out and possibly banned from the hospital but you'll most likely get us kicked out as well. So curb your childish antics and just CALM DOWN!"

Quinn stared, mouth hanging open at the sight of Rachel on top of Santana, screaming into her face. She didn't know what to do; the situation was so surreal that her mind was having trouble wrapping itself around it. She wrung her hands, glancing repeatedly back and forth between Santana and Rachel, eyes darting nervously from both girls' faces. The blonde was waiting for the impending eruption that would be on extremely pissed off Santana Lopez and the anticipation of such a blowout had her bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet.

The sound of a gut-wrenching sob emanating from Santana almost caused Rachel to topple off her. She slid off the crying Latina only to squeeze up to her side, pulling her into her arms. "Shh," Rachel murmured, tears filling her own eyes. The reality of Brittany's current condition came crashing back onto her and she felt the heavy weight of it press down hard on her chest. "Shh, Santana. It's going to be ok; Brittany is going to be fine. The doctor said she sustained some broken bones and they need to monitor her because she lost quite a bit of blood but she's going to be ok." Rachel did not mean to sugarcoat Brittany's condition but the way Santana had unraveled in her arms did not compel her to elucidate all the details.

Quinn snapped out of her initial shock at Santana's breakdown then hopped up on the bed on the other side of the girl and joined Rachel in hugging the Latina from behind. The sight of the pair crying set her off and together, the trio huddled tightly together on Santana's bed, each clinging to the other for comfort as they proceeded to let loose their emotions through copious amounts of tears. It was the second best alternative to begin their healing; the first would have been to see Brittany but hospital policy prevented that course of action and given their previous jaunts within the hospital, neither girl wanted to test the hospital staffs' patience anymore than they already had.

Therefore, for now, the trio sought solace within each other.

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_Twenty-Four Hours Later_

The last twenty-four fours, Santana conceded, had to be one of the most bizarre experiences of her life. It was hard for her to look back upon, given the sheer amount of events that had occurred. Tantrums had been thrown, tempers arose and tears were shed. Not necessarily in that order. The glee kids had been informed of Brittany's accident and they trickled in one after the other, sometimes in pairs and other times alone. Soon, every Glee member was present and accounted for, with the exception of Artie, who was visiting relatives in Cleveland. They sprouted condolences that fell onto deaf ears, offered hugs of reassurances that went about ignored then proceeded to line the hallway outside Brittany's room like some ragtag team of non-uniformed Secret Service.

Mr. Schuester himself had made an appearance, looking harried and panicked when he walked briskly down the corridor. He was swiftly followed by Quinn's mother who was at a day spa out of town; she had observed her daughter from head toe, then upon concluding that _Quinn_ was quite alright, burst into tears and hugged a thoroughly embarrassed former head cheerleader right in front of her peers. It had taken heated reassurances for the older woman to let her go. Santana's own mother, had still failed to show. She had called though, almost asking for the Latina's permission to remain where she was then ultimately, guilting Santana into saying that it was okay that she wasn't here to support her only daughter through this grief-stricken time when she spoke about how the retirement home was in a great state of chaos.

Now, twenty-four hours had passed and Santana found herself sitting sentinel by Brittany's bedside. She had taken over for Frank, who had left to swap places with his wife, who was waiting anxiously at home with Jaime. The couple had a brief argument over the phone about whether it was a sensible idea to bring Jaime to the hospital. Granted, she was young, but this was her big sister, whom she adored relentlessly.

Turning her attention back to Brittany, Santana proceeded to map out the girl with her eyes. The blonde was pale against crisp hospital sheets, an IV drip running into one hand and a breathing tube in her nose. She was also hooked up to an EKG machine, and it beeped quietly, a monotone sound that did nothing to sooth Santana's nerves.

Santana ran a lone finger down Brittany's cheek, marveling at the softness of the blonde's skin. "Hey," she offered, her voice a low burr. "I don't know if you can hear me, B, but I want you to know that I'm here. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." There was a double meaning to those uttered words, a carefully encrypted meaning that only few were privy to. Santana's tired eyes traced over the stark white bandage plastered across Brittany's temple, the bruises running down the side of her face, another obnoxiously white bandage on the side of her neck and the mismatched patches of discolored skin that she knew was hidden underneath that flimsy hospital gown and blanket. Then there was the cast on her arm; the doctor had said that it was a clean break and that it should heal fairly quickly but it still did nothing to comfort Santana. The wrap around the blonde's right thigh, though concealed by the blankets, seemed to burn its image through the thin layers of material under which it lay. Santana's eyes lingered over the outline of Brittany's leg, feeling that wrap mock her, reminding her just how close she could have been to losing the blonde.

Her finger continued to move, tracking invisible lines down the sleeping blonde's neck, over her uninjured collarbone and down her unbroken arm until it came to a rest at the tip of Brittany's pinky. Feeling a sob threatening to bubble up from her throat, Santana swallowed hard and blinked against tears that wanted to fall. Her breath caught however, when she felt a subtle movement beneath her hand. Incredulous eyes bounced toward Brittany's hand only to find the blonde's pinky finger twitching slightly where it lay, as if it were searching for something. Or more specifically, another pinky. Santana quickly shifted her hand to curl her own pinky finger around the blonde's almost sobbing in relief when Brittany's linked quite unconsciously with hers.

Santana squeezed Brittany's little finger as hard as she dared. Impulsively, she leaned over and dusted a soft kiss over Brittany's cheek, lips lingering over the pale but warm skin. "I love you," Santana dared breathe out. "Do you hear me, B? I love _**you**_." Crystal drops of salty tears stubbornly raced through the barriers of Santana's self control, falling down her face and clinging wetly to her eyelashes. "I love you so much it hurts, Brittany. It's like I can't breathe when you're not around and when I'm alone my heart wants to rip itself into shreds." The Latina's face was streaked with tears as she confessed what her heart had been pleading for her to say for so long. "Please, B. I love you. I'll do anything. Please, please, come back to me." Her monologue ended with a ragged sob and she let her head fall onto the bed, right next to their entwined pinkies.

Brittany did not respond. It broke Santana's heart, seeing the bubbly blonde so pale and lifeless. It was as though someone had sucked the dancer's exuberant energy right out of her, leaving behind this hollow, empty shell that was devoid of its passion for life. Santana's shoulders hitched, tremors quaking through her body and rattling her frame. Anybody walking in would have seen a brittle and broken girl hunched over the bed, beaten and defeated by life's obstacles.

However, internally, Santana held on to a last vestige of hope, of strength. Given the pinky incident, she knew Brittany was in there somewhere, fighting. And so, for the first time she could recall, Santana prayed. She prayed for forgiveness, for a miracle, for penance.

She never moved her hand from where its littlest finger was twisted securely around Brittany's.

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	15. The Blind Side

**Chapter 15 – The Blind Side**

Santana practically sleepwalked her way back to Brittany's room after having been unceremoniously tossed out by Brittany's father. He demanded that she follow Quinn and Rachel to the cafeteria for some overdue sustenance and when had opened her mouth to protest, he outright threatened to ban her from Brittany should she not comply. Giving into Frank's orders, Santana allowed herself to be towed away, feeling the growing distance that her feet were putting between her and Brittany like a physical ache.

Now, thirty minutes and half a sandwich later, Santana wearily made her way back to Brittany, alone. Quinn and Rachel had decided to make house runs, picking up necessities for Santana as well as themselves. The rest of the Glee kids had headed home too, each promising to return to visit. Frankly, with the exception of Rachel and Quinn, she didn't want to see anybody else.

Santana continued her slow trek back to the room, her feet dragging along the linoleum floor, heavy and sluggish from lack of sleep. In fact, her whole body was tingling, running on the last reserves of adrenaline and energy; in the past two days Brittany had been in and out of consciousness due to the heavy medication and Santana was damned if she were to miss even a second of lucidity from Brittany.

As a result, the Latina had barely slept and it was starting to show. Dark circles rimmed the bottom of her eyes, the deep purple-black smudges so pronounced that they almost resembled bruises. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark coffee eyes dull with fatigue and a bone-deep weariness that was quite unbecoming on a sixteen year old. Her shoulders were slumped forward, back slightly hunched as though something heavy were pressing down on her and try as she might, the weight was simply too heavy for her to carry. Her face was gaunt, cheeks pallid and her mouth drawn into a thin line. To say that Santana Lopez was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion would have been a gross understatement.

When she reached her destination, she lingered outside of the door, hand hovering over the doorknob as she mentally prepared herself to be subjected to the painful sight that was Brittany. Seeing the girl swathed in bandages with various tubes penetrating her body and severe looking hospital equipment buttressing her all too sterile looking bed was wrecking havoc on her already frayed nerves. Girding her mental loins, she sucked in a steadying breath and pushed open the door, only to come to a complete grinding halt.

Artie was parked by Brittany's bedside, delicately holding her hand. Brittany was awake and tears were spilling down her cheeks.

Santana saw red.

"Get the fuck OUT!" She charged over to Artie and ripped his hand away from the bedridden blonde. She pushed at his wheelchair, causing him to careen back into the wall with a loud thump. Santana towered over him, her rage overriding any semblance of rationality from her mind. "Don't touch her," she seethed, her dark brown eyes almost glowing with an unnatural gleam. Santana was so livid that her body physically shook, every muscle fine tuned to a perfect pitch of tension as they bulged out against the confines of her skin. Her lips were pulled back in an ugly snarl, teeth bared. Her hands had formed fists and they lay at her sides, knuckles jutting out in white bumps and twitching in anticipation.

Artie righted his wheelchair and wheeled it forward, causing Santana to backpedal as the wheels nipped at the front of her shoes. "I'm her _boyfriend_," he spat out bitterly. "You get the fuck out." The boy may have been confined to a wheelchair but it did not stop him from retaliating. In fact, recent events had him so incandescent with rage that it was all he could do not to hurl himself out of his chair and onto a visibly fuming Latina. He dug his palms into the rubber lining of the wheels of his wheelchair. "Get out, Santana," he repeated, his voice low with thinly veiled self-control.

Santana had had enough. Her brain was devoid of any reasoning or restraint. All her mind's eye saw was Brittany on the bed, cheeks ruddy from the onslaught of tears that meandered down her face. Artie was the only other one in the room. Therefore, the boy was responsible for Brittany's emotional turmoil. It was enough evidence for the Latina to go postal on Artie. She cocked a fist and pulled her arm back, uncaring of the fact that she was about to hit a boy in a wheelchair. All she saw through her thick red haze of anger was the way Brittany's eyes were filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering and the broken expression masking her face.

Artie saw the position of Santana's arm and parked himself right into the line of fire. "You want to hit me?" he taunted the furious brunette. "Go on, _hit_ me. Only you would stoop so low as to hit a cripple, Santana. You're nothing but a bully, a petulant child that throws her weight around when she can't get her way." Her jerked a thumb in Brittany's general direction. "Brittany is the epitome of good and light; only being around you could corrupt that and look! You went so far as to land her in the hospital." He locked eyes with Santana. "Do you feel proud, Santana? You practically almost _killed_ your best friend. Congratulations," he sneered. There was a part of his mind, the rational part, that was yelling at him to stop talking but he was so incensed that he allowed his emotions to run the show; it wielded his mouth and tongue like twin swords, hurtling word after pointed word at the brunette with acute precision.

And each word hit home; Artie's diatribe was like a rain of physical blows that struck hard into Santana. She felt them withering away her defensive walls only to creep past the cracks to curl a slow poisonous fume around heart. She could practically feel the walls of the beating organ disintegrating under those hateful lexis, slowly peeling back each layer until her heart was raw and exposed, vulnerable to further attack.

"Fuck you," she hissed, her entire posture going on the defensive. She lunged forward and grabbed the boy by his sweater, lifting him slightly off the wheelchair. "I'm going to _kill_ you," she vowed, her words physically venomous. She shook Artie who had taken to circling his fingers around the brunette's wrists, nails digging mercilessly into her skin.

"Go right ahead," Artie retorted. "The world could do with one less piece of scum walking the streets. Kill me. I'd be doing the world a favor by sending your sorry ass to jail."

Santana snarled and proceeded to shake him again, with such vigor that it sent his glasses askew.

The sound of Brittany screaming at them to stop shocked the pair out of their heated skirmish. In unison, they turned their heads toward the blonde, still locked in their current position. Brittany was struggling to get out of the bed, the IV in her hand being pulled taut and threatening to rip through the blonde's skin. Brittany's face was twisted in pain and abject frustration as she tried and repeatedly failed to move more than a few scant centimeters.

Santana dropped Artie back onto his wheelchair in her haste to get to the still struggling blonde. She placed a calming hand on Brittany's chest. "Stop, B, stop. You're gonna hurt yourself. Stop moving!" Panicked brown eyes ran a cursory sweep over Brittany, half expecting the bandages to suddenly explode with red or for healing bones to protrude out from all too delicate skin.

"Stop fighting," Brittany whimpered, collapsing back on the bed. Her brief struggle was causing every nerve in her body to sing out a symphony of pain. "Stop it, both of you. You're hurting me."

Santana recoiled. "I'm sorry," she breathed out, apologies already waiting to fall from her lips. "God, I wasn't…I wasn't thinking." Her eyes prickled and her lower lip trembled. She began backing out toward the door and before Brittany could say anything she bolted out of the room, her fight or flight instincts screaming the latter until Santana's legs grew a will of their own and carried the aghast Latina out the room and down the hospital corridor.

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"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Artie muttered acrimoniously as he straightened the wrinkles on his sweater before sliding his glasses back up his nose.

"Artie?"

The boy looked up into sad ocean blue eyes and immediately felt the pangs of regret pinging off his heart. He had the decency to look ashamed as he wheeled himself back to Brittany's bedside, gently reclaiming her hand. "I'm sorry," he apologies profusely. "I don't know what came over me." It was a lie; he knew what had come over him: jealousy. Rage inducing, rational thought erasing, all encompassing jealousy. He was jealous of Santana Lopez and the realization of this did not bode well with him.

"Artie?" Brittany worried her bottom lip with her teeth, bottomless blue eyes pleading with him to understand.

Artie sighed and ran a hand over his bangs, pushing them out of his line of sight. He traced the contours of the blonde's hand with his own. "Are you sure?" he inquired, hoping that she would reconsider.

Brittany's eyes welled again, blurring the blue of her eyes. She bit her lip but nodded. "I'm sure," she replied hollowly. "I'm so, so sorry, Artie. I never meant to hurt you." Tears tumbled over her eyelashes, landing wetly on her cheeks and sliding down to cannonball off the precipice of her chin only to splatter wet splotches onto the blanket below.

Artie patted the hand he held in his own. "I know," he conceded softly. His initial anger had dissipated, leaving him slightly embarrassed and remorseful. With his conscience back on the saddle, he realized the corollary of his verbal actions and knew that Santana did not deserve his verbal abuse. He hung his head, shame seeping into his pores to niggle at his nerves. It had been a long time since he had lost control of his emotions like that. The first time had been when he realized that he would never walk again and he had lashed out, verbally and physically, alienating those closest to him. When he finally saw sense, he realized that taking out his anger on the very people who loved him unconditionally left him burning in a pit of regret and drowning in humiliation. Anger never brought satisfaction, only downfallen upon oneself.

Brittany saw the turmoil in Artie's eyes, knowing that their previous conversation, before they were abruptly interrupted by Santana, had to be bearing down on him. She tugged at his hand, hoping to salvage some of the bond they had created. "Can we still be friends?" she pleaded.

Artie offered Brittany a sad half-smile. "Not right now, Brittany." He held up a hand to stop her protest. "I just need some space to…recover." His lids fluttered rapidly behind his glasses, warding off the sting of tears.

Brittany immediately let go of his hand and tried scooting toward the other end of the bed, only to gasp out in pain as her broken bones grated against each other, sparking agony throughout her body. Artie frowned and reached for Brittany's hand again, silently using touch to convey to the blonde to remain still even as he said, "stop moving around, Brittany."

"But you said you wanted space," Brittany replied, confusion lacing her voice. "So I'm giving it to you."

Artie choked back a laugh. If there was going to be one thing he missed about the blonde, it was the quirky way her mind interpreted things. Brittany's perception on the world never failed to amuse him. "Not that kind of space, Britt," he explained softly. "I just need some time away from you. Can you understand that?"

Brittany pushed out her bottom lip, a line forming between her brows as she knitted them into a frown. "Yes," she nodded sulkily. "But not too long?" she asked hopefully, for she really liked hanging out with the boy.

Artie smiled, a sincere smile that actually reached his eyes. He lifted Brittany's hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "Not too long," he promised. "I'm going to go find Santana and bring her back here, okay?" He held up the proposal as a peace offering.

Brittany's eyes were uncertain. "You're not going to fight again are you?" Worry peppered her tone and she fidgeted under the covers, as much as she could fidget without jarring anything.

Artie shook his head. "No fighting. I promise," he intoned solemnly. "Bye, Brittany," he whispered softly, looking at the blonde one last time before making his way to the door. He paused at with his hand on the knob, obviously hesitating over something in his mind. He dropped his hand back onto the wheel and spun himself back around to face Brittany. "What does she have that I don't?" It was a loaded question, bound to send the broken pieces of his heart smashing into nothing more than debris onto the linoleum floor but he had to know.

Brittany locked wet eyes, now the color of an ocean storm, onto Artie's brown ones. "My heart," the blonde whispered, her voice bittersweet. It was something that was hard to admit, even to herself; for as long as she knew, her heart never really belonged to her. It was always in the hands of her best friend. Her best friend, who had something so precious in her possession and yet handled the fragile gift with abrasiveness and rejection one too many times. Regardless, Santana was the keeper of her heart. So how was she suppose to give away something that didn't even belong to her?

"She has my heart."

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Santana ran in no particular direction, allowing her feet to carry her as it wished. Therefore, she was slightly stumped when she ended up in the hospital's chapel, the last place anybody would expect the brunette to go seeking solace in.

And yet, there she was, sequestered on the last pew, head resting on the backrest of the pew in front of her. Slow droplets of tears fell leisurely down her face, skiing silently off prominent cheekbones only to cascade onto the floor below. Her heart was a slow thrum beneath her ribs, weary of the emotional wringer it had been put through and close to accepting defeat. Her soul was all but torn, an abstract mess of sorrow and pain that bled black, blue and red.

"For one so young, you seemed unaccountably burdened."

Santana jumped as the voice cut through her bubble of solitude. She looked up to see a stout man with a head of shocking white hair. His face was weathered, a roadmap of wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes, mouth and forehead. His eyes were a startling shade of emerald green and they seemed to burn with a vivacity that was at odds with the maturity of his age.

"I'm not burdened," Santana defended herself quietly. She turned her head again, eyes favoring the altar stationed at the front of the chapel.

"You're conflicted," the man said. He shuffled over to the pew opposite Santana and settled himself slowly onto it. He had a curious lilting accent; at one point in time it may have emerged as a full Irish brogue but now, after decades of living across the ocean, the accent had dimmed, diluted by the softer drawl of his locality. Still, there was an inflection in his voice that made no doubt of his familial heritage. "What are you seeking?"

Santana allowed another tear to burn down her cheek. "Forgiveness," she finally whispered. "Acceptance." A beat. "Love." Her voice was haunted, raging with insecurity and fraught with pain. Her eyes never waved from its position on the altar.

The man did not respond. Instead, he knelt down and closed his eyes, lips moving silently to prayer that was not voiced aloud. Silence cantered about the chapel, taking joy in the small but ethereal setting; stain glass windows framed either side and the walls were of a silvery-white hue, lending the chapel a coolness and tranquility that was much needed for individuals who came in nursing broken hearts and tattered souls.

A barely discernable "amen" echoed softly from the man, causing silence to trip. He stood slowly, holding onto the pew for support. Making the sign of the cross, he bowed his head toward the front of the chapel before shuffling out from the pew. It looked as though he was turning to leave but then he appeared at Santana's side and dropped a gentle hand on the top of her head.

"The path to the things you seek," the man spoke softly. "Starts from within. From you."

Santana turned a tear-stained face up to him, eyes abundant with confusion. He offered a gentle smile. "Forgive, accept and love yourself before you permit others to do the same."

Another soft smile graced his mouth. He nodded once to Santana then walked out, leaving the brunette alone to contemplate the man's words.

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"This was honestly the last place I would ever think to look for you," Artie announced quietly as he wheeled himself into the chapel, coming to a stop just slightly behind the still sitting brunette. "I even made the nurse clarify her description of you twice before I was convinced," he continued, hoping to lighten what was going to be an inevitably tense conversation.

"Why are you here?" Santana's voice was subdued, the tang of defeat lingering like a persistent odor in the back of her throat.

"To ask you to go back," he replied simply. He chose to ignore the pangs in his heart.

"You're her _boyfriend_," she stretched out the last word not without bitterness. "Your place is at her side."

"I'm not her boyfriend," came the quiet respond.

Santana whipped her head around, unsure if she heard right.

Artie nodded. "It's what we were discussing before you rudely barged in on us."

"You made her cry," was Santana's simplistic defense.

"And you broke her heart. Repeatedly."

The words cut. "I didn't mean to," Santana choked out brokenly. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her skin.

Artie's gaze bore twin holes into Santana. "I want to believe you," he paused to pin the brunette with an unreadable expression. "But I can't," he finished evenly.

More biting words.

"I'm trying to make it right," Santana chewed out. Nails bit in deeper, causing crescent grooves that crooned a slow melody of discomfort.

"Then why are you here instead of by her side?"

For that, Santana had no comeback. She merely stared at Artie, who stared back, his face impassive. Finally, Santana looked away, the guilt overwhelming her.

"She's waiting for you," Artie implied. The pangs in his heart sharpened and he gripped hard at the wheels.

"I'm sorry," Santana whispered. Regret and guilt was a visible mask over the features of her face.

"For what? For shoving me? Threatening me? For pushing and pulling away from your best friend? For making her think that it was okay to sleep with you even when she was with me? Or for making her fall so deeply in love with you that she was forced into making a decision that almost broke her?"

Santana's eyes slid shut against the slew of painfully truthful words. Denying them would have been fruitless. "All of it," she rasped out hollowly.

Artie shook his head. "I'll never understand how someone so…pure, could love someone like you, Santana." His gaze sat resolutely on Santana's face, never faltering. "But she does. So start making things right. Go back to her."

Santana's head bobbed in submission. She stood, knees creaking in protest at having to carry her seemingly dead weight. She began a slow trudge around Artie's wheelchair, paused, then turned back to the seated boy. "I really am sorry," she said quietly, her voice choked with regret.

Artie's hands dug into themselves. "If you hurt her again, I really will kill you, wheelchair or not." The tone of his voice was calm, steady. His statement was neither a promise nor a threat. It was simply fact.

Santana nodded again. She cast one long look at the boy before turning and making her way back.

Back to Brittany.

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Brittany was fighting off the seductive call of sleep, wanting nothing more than to sink into its warm embrace so that it could lull her into a floating web of dreams that were free from the physical, mental and emotional constraints of her waking state. However, she fought against sleep's siren call. She was waiting for Santana.

As if on cue, the door to her room quietly opened. Santana slipped through the small fissure between door and frame, then closed it behind her with a soft click. She remained motionless, rooted to where she stood as she stared at the girl who had so easily wormed into her heart.

"Hi." It was Brittany who broke the silence.

Santana's lips jerked into a watery smile. "Hi."

Brittany felt the beginnings of a yawn and clamped down hard on her jaw to evade it. The action caused a shockwave of pain to radiate off her temple and she winced.

Santana noticed. She took a hesitant step forward. "You're tired," she observed quietly.

Brittany jerked her head in affirmation. "But I want to talk to you."

Santana's feet moved another step. "We can talk after you take a nap."

Brittany's head shook stubbornly. "I want to talk now."

Another two steps. "Please, Brittany. You need to rest. You've barely begun to heal."

"I need you to heal my heart first."

Santana's face twisted in pain. Her measured steps toward the bed faltered. "I'm sorry." It seemed to the highlighted word in her verbal vocabulary for it was seemingly the first ones to fall seamlessly from her lips.

"Did you mean it?"

Santana's head cocked in confusion.

"The song," Brittany illuminated.

Santana's eyes snapped onto the blonde's, easily mesmerized by its startling shade of blue. "Every word," she confessed softly.

"Come here," Brittany implored quietly.

Santana hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please." A soft spoken plea.

Santana's feet obeyed, moving forward until the brunette found herself by Brittany's bedside. Impulse had her hand snaking down to entwined its fingers gently, reverently with the blonde's. Their pinkies automatically curled around each other. "I love you," Santana uttered. Her voice was not a decibel above a whisper, yet Brittany heard it as though the brunette had shouted it from the rooftops.

"I love you too." Truer words have never been spoken. Brittany emphasized hers with a squeeze of Santana's hand.

Santana squeezed back, albeit with a gentleness that surprised even herself. "Are we going to be ok?"

Brittany hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted.

Santana was not surprised by the answer. After everything they had been through, every barricade the brunette had thrown in their path, it would have shocked the brunette had Brittany simply given in and welcomed her back with open arms. "Tell me what I can do to make things right." There was no trace of desperation in her tone, just humble acceptance.

Brittany sighed, her eyes dropping. The medication flushing through her system was dominating her will to stay awake and she was hard pressed to not give into the yawning abyss of endless black. "I don't know," she repeated. Her shoulders sagged back against the pillows and her eyelids, suddenly feeling like lead, slipped further over her eyes. "Sing to me," she mumbled, her speech slurring.

Santana began to ease herself into the vacated chair by Brittany's bed but was stopped when Brittany tugged weakly at her arm. She stared the at the bed, assessing it. She knew what Brittany wanted, but didn't know if it would be conducive, given the blonde's fragile condition. "I don't want to hurt you," Santana reiterated, her voice etched with concern.

"Please."

So Santana squeezed in next to Brittany, keeping herself as close to the edge as possible but still near enough to the blonde for her to feel her presence. Her position practically left her handing off the edge of the bed and it would have been a lie if she said she was comfortable. But she was near Brittany. That's all that mattered. She brought her and Brittany's entwined hands to rest on her chest.

"Sing?" The word was barely intelligible; Brittany felt as though her tongue was suddenly two sizes too big, swollen inside her head and resistant to movement.

Santana turned and pressed her lips to the un-bandaged part of Brittany's head. She caught a whiff of strawberries, the scent traveling down to sooth her soul. Then she leaned back and rearranged her head on the furthermost tip of Brittany's pillow.

_If I lay here_

_If I just lay here_

She heard Brittany's breathing even out and deepen, felt the blonde's body sink further into the mattress. She caressed Brittany's fingers, savoring soft skin and warmth.

_Would you lie with me_

_And just forget the world?_

Xxxxxxxxxx

**A/N –** Song used is "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. Ok, it's kinda a little too literal, what with the song being titled Chasing Cars and Brittany actually getting whacked by one but it was the first song to pop into my head and it seemed to fit their current situation. Let me know what you think.


	16. You & I

**A/N – **Guys, I apologize profusely for the late update. It was a hellish week at work and I'm spent. Then my muse left the confines of my brain and I was left with a very blank white page. However, the chapter is finally done so happy reading! FYI, it's a very flashback-y chapter so scenes typed in Italics are the flashbacks ok?

**Chapter 16 – You & I**

Sunlight began a slow creep into the room, long fingers of amber-gold snaking in between the venetian blinds to paint the room and its occupants in a soft orange glow. One particular sliver of sunlight stroked its way across a slumbering Santana's face, teasingly dancing over closed eyelids until they twitched into a semi-conscious state of wakefulness. Satisfied, the ray of light slithered over to the brunette's bedmate, elongating and joining the other rays of light in casting a blanket of honey colored warmth over the sleeping blonde.

Santana grumbled softly under her breath as she felt the whispers of morning ghost across her face, bathing her in a gentle warmth. She had tried to escape its wakeup call but it was victorious in snatching her from the drowsy arms of sleep when it slid over her closed eyes, sending an explosion of orange, yellow and red to assault her vision. Moaning quietly in defeat, she cracked open an eye, wincing slightly as the sleepy brown of her irises contracted against the flood of light, dim as it was so far. She slowly slid her other eye open and this time what made her pupils dilate was the sight of a contently slumbering Brittany. The blonde was painted in an ethereal orange-gold, illuminating her lightly tanned skin. Rays of sunlight sifted through her hair, igniting it in a corona of angelic blonde and highlighting the golden-white color of each strand. The sight made Santana's breath catch; she had honestly never seen anything more beautiful.

Santana would have liked to spend all day watching Brittany sleep and memorizing how the play of sunlight accented the planes of her face and molded to the curves of her body but nature was calling and her bladder was making a not so patient throb against her skin. Careful not to jostle her bedmate, she cautiously removed herself from Brittany's side , her feet hitting the floor with an inaudible thump. She clumsily stumbled her way to the small bathroom across the room, sleep still gnawing on leg muscles that were not quite prepared to carry the brunette's sluggish weight even across a small distance.

When the Latina was done, she padded back toward the bed and eased back onto it, mindful of the fact that Brittany was snoozing peacefully. The blonde really was quite a vision and Santana could not help but indulge in a bit of voyeurism. Propping her head on her upturned palm, Santana allowed a lone finger to trace Brittany's hairline. She smoothed back tufts of blonde hair that had tumbled onto a smooth forehead , adding to the already tousled bed-head look the blonde was already sporting. Her finger continued its impromptu expedition, skating over pale eyebrows, committing their shape to memory. The same finger traveled down the bridge of Brittany's nose, come to rest at its tip. Unable to resist, Santana bestowed the sleeping Brittany with an Eskimo kiss, chuckling softly when the blonde scrunched up her nose in response. Continuing to map out every inch of the girl's face, Santana ran gentle knuckles down the planes of Brittany's left cheek, her nerves fairly tingling with glee as it soaked up the velvet softness and warmth that emanating from the blonde's sleep flushed skin. The journey ended with Santana thumbing Brittany's lip, her thumb absentmindedly swiping back and forth against the plush skin. The lanky dancer's mouth was slightly open and soft and warm puffs of breath would periodically caress Santana's finger.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice shaking. She palmed Brittany's cheek, savoring the sweet contact. "I love you so much it scares me," Santana confessed in a strangled tone.

It had become ritual for Santana to wake before her blonde counterpart and whisper those three words to Brittany. Often, they brought with it admissions of insecurity and fear but Santana was tired of running and hiding from her feelings. Therefore, whilst her uncertainties still lay claim on the Latina, she counted on her unyielding love for the girl next to her to get her through the emotional turmoil.

As she leaned over to dust a kiss onto Brittany's cheek, she heard the door squeak open. Accompanying it was the smell of old spice and breakfast. Although Santana knew who it was, she did not shy away from completing her kiss. Frank Pierce knew about their relationship. How much he knew went back to a week ago when he unexpectedly walked in on the day Santana unintentionally began her morning ritual.

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_Santana awoke to the sounds of water pelting down onto the window. She squinted open eyes that were rusty with sleep only to find rain sheeting down in torrents. Each drop tinkered onto the windowpanes, creating a cacophony of noise that was melodious as it was annoying. The Latina sighed as the tangles of sleep retreated from her body, rousing awake muscles and a brain that was not quite ready to start the day. Therefore, instead of getting up, Santana turned to the gently snoring blonde positioned next to her. Her lips quirked into a grin when her gaze settled onto Brittany; the blonde's mouth was hanging open, with a slight line of spittle running down the corner of her lip. Santana thumbed it away, replacing it with a small kiss._

_"I love you." The words were out of Santana's mouth before she could think to censor them. Panic immediately seized her, squeezing a tight noose against her throat but she fought against it, telling herself that it was okay, that loving the girl next to her was salvation not condemnation. It was not easy, fighting against her natural instincts to lock up and run but Santana was trying. She soothed agitated nerves by running her fingers through Brittany's hair, enjoying the silky softness that kissed her skin. "I love you," she repeated, her voice a little stronger this time. Throwing caution to the wind, she leaned over to brush the lightest of kisses over Brittany's lips._

_Frank chose that very moment to walk into the room and Santana almost fell out of bed in shock and panic. She quickly reared back from the blonde and was about to leap out of bed, a thousand apologies ready at the tip of her tongue but was stopped by Frank's hand on her very tense shoulder. "Stay, _lieverd_," he whispered softly so as to not disturb Brittany. He sat on the chair sequestered next to the bed and held out one of the two brown paper bags he had gripped in his hand._

_Santana took the proffered bag with hands that shook violently. Needing to release her nervous energy, she unfurled the bag and rooted a hand inside before fishing out a breakfast burrito. The brunette stared at the food item wordlessly, wondering how she was suppose to even entertain the idea of eating when her stomach was suddenly tied up in knots. The girl was quite sure that any food she tried to ingest would be unable to navigate through the maze of knots that had become her digestive tract and would promptly expel out the food Heimlich style._

"_You're supposed to eat that, Santana." Frank's voice held a note of amusement as he watched the girl stare at the burrito as though she had never seen it before._

_Santana obeyed and hesitantly bit off a small corner, wincing as the mixture of eggs, bacon and potato slid against her tongue like sandpaper. Swallowing proved more difficult as her throat was constricted with unadulterated panic and the chew morsel felt more like sharpened nails clawing its way down her throat. When she was done, Santana dropped the food onto the bag on her lap, feeling as though she had run a marathon. Unable to stand a second more, she turned to face the music. "Can we talk about what just happened?" she blurted out in an almost unintelligible rush._

_Frank ran a hand over his wavy blonde hair. "You kissed my daughter," he began simply, keeping his tone neutral._

_Santana's head bobbed furiously. "And?" She was waiting for the man's verdict, or more accurately, for Frank to unleash hell upon her. Her body tensed in anticipation._

"_Do you love her?" came the quiet inquiry._

_Santana gaped incredulously at the man seated by the bed. "What?" _

"_It's a simple question, Santana."_

_The brunette in question was fumbling for straws, her brain frantically trying to make sense of this bizarre situation. However, upon gazing into cerulean eyes that were eerily familiar, she felt compelled to give Frank an honest answer. "Yes, sir," she replied softly. "I love her."_

_Frank nodded, believing the girl. "I was actually waiting for the day that the two of you would come to me about your relationship." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Imagine my confusion when she brought Artie home for dinner one day."_

_Santana scowled quite unwillingly upon hearing the wheelchair bound boy's name. She harbored no ill feelings toward Artie, it was just an instinctive reaction. "I got scared," the girl admitted, shame coloring her voice. "I got scared and I lost her."_

_Frank nodded again. "I see." He leaned forward and tucked two fingers under Santana's chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. "Are you going to hurt her again?" _

_The mild tone of disapproval actually relaxed Santana for it was closer to the reaction she had been awaiting. "I can't guarantee that I won't, sir," she said truthfully. The Latina forced herself not to squirm under the intense weight of Frank's gaze. "But I want to try to make her happy."_

_Frank offered her yet another nod. "That's all that I ask," he responded. He stood and brushed off the wrinkles that had accumulated on his pants upon sitting down. He glanced down at Santana who was fidgeting under the covers and pulled her into a surprise hug, refusing to let go until the brunette reciprocated, sinewy arms timidly wrapping around his broad shoulders. Satisfied, he pulled back but not before dropping a kiss onto Santana's forehead. _

"_Take care of my little girl," he told Santana. He moved to leave but Santana's calling of his name, made him turn around. He cocked his head inquisitively._

"_You're ok with this?" Santana indicated the space between herself and the still sleeping Brittany. The brunette was pretty sure that her brain had short-circuited because of all the scenarios she had envisioned of either set of parents finding out about her and Brittany, this was about as far off her predictions as it could get. And it was severely putting a dent in her discombobulated brain._

_Frank cracked a small smile, noting the confusion, incredulousness and wariness marring the intense brown of Santana's eyes. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand your relationship with my daughter, Santana. Or any gay relationship." He was quick to continue when he saw the brunette's shoulders sag in defeat. "BUT, I see the way you look at her, how you look out __**for**__ her. You make her happy. You make her eyes light up and you put a smile on her face."_

"_Is that enough for you?"_

_Frank smiled. "It's enough for me."_

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"Hi Frank," Santana greeted the tall blonde man. She nodded toward the brown paper bag that had become a common occurrence. "Breakfast?" she inquired.

Frank grunted in agreement and relinquished one of the bags to the Latina before dropping the other one on the bedside table. He leaned over Santana to kiss the sleeping Brittany's forehead before doing the same with Santana, who blushed despite the fact that Frank did this to her all the time. "How are my girls?"

Santana's blush deepened, her entire face burning scarlet. "Fine," she mumbled. She quickly took a bite of her breakfast in an attempt to occupy her mouth.

Frank grinned at Santana's bashful manner. "I can't stay; I have to be in court in twenty minutes. I just wanted to come by to drop off breakfast and to let you know that Brooke and Jaime will dropping by."

Santana nodded. "Ok."

Frank reached out and smoothed back Santana's hair then did the same with Brittany. "See you later, _meisje_."

Santana waved as he retreated back out the door and continued to dig into her breakfast with gusto. When she felt Brittany shift slightly next to her, she paused and looked down only to find sleepy blue eyes peering up at her. Santana immediately deposited her breakfast on the bedside table and reclined back down fully next to Brittany. She cupped the blonde's cheek. "Good morning," she said softly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on Brittany's lips.

"Hi," Brittany breathed out. She frowned when her stomach grumbled grouchily. "San, I'm hungry."

"Your dad brought breakfast." She turned to scoop Brittany's brown paper bag into her hand then reached down the side of the bed for the remote control that would draw the bed into a slightly upright position. Done, she fished out a Styrofoam box containing pancakes and popped it open. She meticulously began cutting the pancakes into neat squares then ripped open a packet of maple syrup, generously drizzling it onto the squares. She poked a few onto the fork and lifted it to Brittany's mouth, watching as Brittany practically inhaled the small forkful of food. "Easy, B. There's more where that came from."

"But San, I'm hungry," Brittany whined.

"Slow, B," Santana admonished gently. She lifted up another forkful. "Or you'll give yourself a stomachache."

"Is Jaime coming to today?" the blonde mumbled around a mouthful of pancakes, taking to heart, Santana's advice to eat slowly.

"Yeah," the Latina nodded. As she continued feeding Brittany her breakfast, her mind wandered down her hallway of memories, opening up the door to the one where Jaime came to visit her big sister and ran into Santana. Literally.

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_Santana emerged from the cafeteria, armed with two sealed plastic bowls of jello. It was one of the few foods Brittany was allowed to eat so far and blonde had been adamant that the jello be yellow. Santana had quickly volunteered to scour the hospital cafeteria for the blonde's food, leaving her in the hands of Quinn and Rachel. _

_Now, as she made her way back to the blonde's room, armed with her spoils, spoons tucked into her back pocket, she was quite unprepared for a tiny blonde blur to bowl her over, sending the bowls of jello skittering like oversized pucks across the polished floor._

"_Santi!" A happy voice chirped out._

_Santana looked up at her assailant and coffee stained eyes landed on a face dusted with freckles and an upturned nose. Eyes, bluer than a summer sky, twinkled down at her and a grin sat across her face, stretched so wide that the dimples in each cheek were blatantly pronounced. _

"Princesa_, you're getting too heavy to be attacking people like that," Santana chided the little girl who was now bouncing happily on her stomach. The brunette sat up and tucked her hands under Jaime's arms, lifting her up as she hauled them both off the ground. She smiled when Jaime immediately curled into her embrace, gripping Santana's shirt with one hand and tucking her blonde head under the brunette's chin. "Hey you," the Latina whispered into a nearby ear._

"_Miss you, Santi," the little girl mumbled. Her blonde head popped back up and Santana suddenly found herself the recipient of a disgruntled four year old. "Why'd you go away for so long?"_

_Santana swallowed against a lump that had developed in her throat. "Sorry, J," she apologized. "I've been…busy," she finished lamely, unknowingly echoing Brittany's sentiments when Jaime had asked her big sister the same question._

"_There you are, Jaime!" Brooke, Brittany's mother, rounded the corner with a slightly harried look adorning her face. She caught sight of her daughter safe and sound in Santana's arms and let loose a breath of relief. "_Lieverd_, you can't go running off like that. You're gonna give me a heart attack." She paused to glanced down at two forgotten bowls of jello, noted that it was yellow and picked them up before making her way over to the pair. "Hello, Santana." _

"_Mrs. Pierce," Santana nodded in greeting. The Latina was a little more cautious around Brittany's mother, who she suspected knew just what Brittany and her got up to during their "study sessions."_

"_I see you found the munchkin." She held up the bowls of jello. "I assume these are yours?"_

_Santana nodded. "Britt had a craving," she replied. _

_Brooke rolled her eyes. "And she insisted that it be yellow?" Upon Santana's "mmm hmm", she chuckled. "How is she?" the blonde woman asked as she began walking down the hall toward her daughter's room._

_Santana followed suit, lightly bouncing Jaime in her arms. The little girl simply giggled and latched onto the brunette's neck tighter. "She's doing better. The doctors say that she's healing real good."_

"_Glad to hear it," Brook answered. She paused outside of Brittany's door. "And how are you?" Cornflower blue eyes bore into Santana, taking in the disheveled clothing and the dark circles smudged under the girl's eyes._

_Santana worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I'm ok." She tried to divert the woman's attention from her by gently tickling Jaime's sides, making the girl squeal._

_Brooke pursed her lips but refrained from saying anything. She pushed open the door revealing her daughter who was in talks with a blonde and brunette sitting sentinel by her bedside._

_Brittany's head turned toward the open door and she squealed in a manner that was uncannily like her little sister when she saw who her visitors were. "Mama!" she called out. Her eyes dropped onto Jaime who was cradled in Santana's arms. "_Engeltje_," she addressed the tiny blonde, a smile lighting up her entire face._

"_I'd never thought I'd see Santana, of all people to be carrying a child," Rachel whispered into Quinn's ear, astonishment coloring her tone. She watched as the little girl, so reminiscent of a miniature Brittany, palm Santana's cheek and mumble something. Santana responded with a peck on the top of her head before allowing the girl to slid out of her arms and onto the floor where she promptly scrambled over to where Brooke was. A tug on her mother's skirt had Brooke carefully lifting Jaime onto the bed, with a gentle warning not to touch or move around too much. _

"_Santana adores Brittany's sister," Quinn whispered back to Rachel as she watched Jaime wrap thin arms around Brittany before tucking herself into the taller blonde's side. "That little girl could get away with murder with Santana." _

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Santana was brought back to the present by an insistent tug on her sleeve. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of her memories and glanced down at her blonde counterpart. "What's up, baby?"

"Where'd you go?" Brittany asked simply. She reached up with her good hand to flick away a loose strand of hair that had fallen over Santana's eye. "Your face got all spacey."

Santana laughed. "Sorry, B. Just took a walk in my head that's all." She glanced down the empty container on her lap. "Looks like you're all done with breakfast, B." She daintily hopped off the bed and gathered up the trash, carrying it over to the wastepaper basket and dropping it in. When she looked back up, she saw Brittany unsuccessfully try to stifle a yawn. She walked back over to the bedridden girl and ran the back of her hand down Brittany's cheek, smiling softly when the blonde leaned into her touch. "Go back to sleep if you're tired, B."

"Will you stay?" came the sleepy reply.

"Where else would I go?" Santana said. She crawled back in next to Brittany, moving as close as humanly possible without actually hurting or compromising the blonde's injuries.

"Tell me a story?"

"With ducks?" Santana's quirked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

Brittany giggled. "With ducks."

Santana combed her mind for that well of creativity, hoping to dip her mental quill in it as she tried to come up with an appropriate duck story for the blonde. As she launched into her narrative, her mind could not help but wander again. This time she recollected how it was actually Jaime who asked for a story and the conversation that had took place after.

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_Jaime was snoozing quite contently in the warm circle of Santana's arms, her fist clutching a handful of the Latina's t-shirt even as her head lay heavily on the brunette's chest. _

"_I don't think she liked my story," Santana said, mock offended._

_Brittany rolled her eyes. "You know she always falls asleep when you tell her a story, San," she reminded her softly._

"_Yeah," Santana said. She glanced down at the little girl, affection evident in her eyes. Unable to resist, she bent her head and dropped a kiss on the top of Jaime's head, catching a whiff of strawberries and vanilla. _

"_San?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Can we talk?"_

_Santana looked up at the solemn tone that had etched its way into those three words. "Sure," she agreed cautiously, wondering if their light-hearted afternoon was about to take a turn into darker waters._

"_I wanna tell you why I ran away that day," Brittany confessed. _

_Santana winced, not wanting to drudge up memories that contained baggage so thorny, it never failed to wrap around the Latina's heart and dig its barbs into the soft muscle. "It's ok, Brittany. It's the past. Just let it go." Desperation was at the forefront of her voice and it carried through the air, obvious and potent._

"_I didn't want to believe you," Brittany murmured, ignoring Santana's plea to not venture down this avenue of talk. _

_Santana's head snapped up. "What?"_

_Brittany fidgeted. "You sing me that song about wanting to love me more, about how Artie couldn't love me like you could." Cobalt blue eyes locked onto mocha brown. "But all my heart was saying how much you hurt me. You don't hurt people you love, San."_

_Santana sighed and dropped her head. She felt her eyes prickle and she cuddled Jaime closer to her for comfort. "I know, Brittany," she uttered, her voice choked with shame. "I know that. I'm sorry. I've been apologizing." Anguished eyes, now the color of molten dark chocolate, looked back up at the bedridden girl. "Tell me what I can do to make it right." She repeated the same words to Brittany, the day Artie had come to the hospital._

"_That's not why I brought this up," Brittany spoke softly._

"_Then why are you?" Santana was lost. "It's not my favorite memory, B. Can we talk about something else?"_

"_No." There was a lucidity in Brittany's eyes, combined with a stubborn determination that commanded all of Santana's attention. "We have to talk about this. I know you feel guilty." She looked down at herself then back up at Santana. "You think me being here is your fault."_

_Santana resisted the urge to bark out a sarcastic laugh but swallowed it in lieu of the sleeping girl in her arms. "It __**is**__ my fault, B. I sang. You ran. I chased after you. Some stupid kid on a skateboard decides that the narrow sidewalk would make the perfect playground and tries to make road kill out of us. So I push you out of harm's way only to land you in front of a moving car." The brunette was shaking as all too fresh memories began bleeding into her mind's eye, bringing with it a boatload of guilt and pain. "Tell me how all this –" She swept a hand over Brittany. "– is not my fault."_

"_You didn't ask me to run," was Brittany's simple reply. When she saw Santana open her mouth to interrupt she cut her off. "Ask me why I was I didn't want to believe you."_

"_Why didn't you want to believe me?" Santana reiterated in a monotone._

"_I felt like Jenga."_

"_Jenga?" Santana echoed. "As in the game?" To say that the brunette was confused would have been an understatement._

_Brittany nodded. "Yeah. You build me up only to break me down."_

_The blonde's words were simple in their honestly and it cut deep. Santana felt each word like a precisely honed razor blade that carved multiple grooves into her soul. Leave it to Brittany to come up with such an innocent analogy only to have it deliver the worse of emotional blows. _

"_I'm sorry, Brittany," was all Santana could utter out of a throat that had narrowed most uncomfortably._

"_I know," Brittany said. She tried to scoot closer to where Santana and her sister sat but stilled upon the brunette's disapproving glare. Instead, she held out a hand, watching as Santana hesitated before taking it, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I want you to stop blaming yourself, San. We can't go anywhere until you forgive yourself."_

_The priest's words came back to haunt her, bolding Brittany's own. She clutched the blonde's hand a little tighter. "I'll try, B. Ok? For you. I'll try for you."_

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Santana was immersing herself with Brittany's giggles at her ridiculous story about a diva duck that went nowhere without a pair of Ray Bans when the door to the blonde's hospital room opened for the second time and two blonde heads popped in.

"_Buenos dias_, J." To Brooke, Santana repeated her greeting, only in English.

"_Goedemorgen_, Santi!" She scuttled over to the reclining pair and lifted her arms, silently asking to be lifted.

Santana acquiesced and picked up the little blonde, settling her in between Brittany and herself.

"_Morgen_, Brittany!" Jaime leaned over to place a sloppy kiss on the taller blonde's cheek.

"_Morgen, Engeltje_." She ruffled her sister's hair. "_Morgen_, mama."

"Hey girls," Brooke replied. She dropped a small bag into the chair next to the bed. "There's stuff in there for Jaime in case she gets bored. I have to make a quick stop at the office. Will you two be ok watching Jaime for a few hours?"

The pair on the bed nodded and Brook took a moment to fuss over Brittany before kissing both her daughters on the cheek before leaving.

"_Adios_, mama!" Jaime hollered after the retreating woman.

Santana chuckled and gently chucked Jaime under the chin. "This kid's gonna be a trilingual powerhouse by the time she hits high school." It had amazed the Latina just how quickly Jaime soaked up the many different languages spoken to her, her sponge-like brain processing and translating the Dutch, Spanish and English terms until she was capable of carrying snippets of conversation in either of the three languages.

"She's gonna turn into triangle from speaking Spanish?" Brittany asked, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

Santana's lips curled. "**Trilingual**, B. It means she can speak more than one language."

"Oh," Brittany said. "She looked down at her little sister who was busy trying to evade Santana's tickling fingers. "That's good right?"

Santana nodded and elicited a high-pitched giggle from their little charge by poking her good-naturedly in the stomach.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Friday."

Santana felt her stomach flip-flop. "Yes, B," she affirmed. "It's Friday." Santana had not wanted to bring it up but apparently, Brittany had been more observant of the days that had ticked by. Friday meant that there was only two more days until Sunday. Sunday marked the end of spring break and come Monday the pair would be separated by seven hours of compulsory school time. Eight if one counted Glee.

"Will you come and visit?"

The hopeful note in Brittany's voice near broke Santana's heart. She pressed a furious kiss to Brittany's lips. "The minute the school bell rings," she swore against Brittany's lips. "I promise." The Latina wanted nothing more than to skip her educational taskmaster and lock herself away in this room with Brittany but she knew that that little rebellion would have not only her mother but also Brittany's parents reigning parental hell onto her.

Brittany nodded and refocused her attention on her little sister. As Santana watched the two blondes converse in whispers and laughter, she conceded that this was perhaps the best spring break ever. Yes, it began with heartache but it seemed to draw to a close with Santana acknowledging that she and Brittany finally had a clean slate to work on. They were somewhat still walking on tiptoes around each other, but they finally got their shot and that's all that mattered.

"B?"

The blonde in question raised her head, an eyebrow arching inquisitively.

"I love you," Santana said. Her eyes burned with the sincerity of her words.

Brittany offered the brunette a sweet smile. She reached over and cupped Santana's cheek. "I love you too."

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**A/N 2 –** Here are the translation for the Dutch and Spanish terms used in the chapter. Again, feel free to correct me.

**Dutch**: _lieverd _(darling/sweetheart), _meisje_ (girl/little girl), e_ngeltje _(little angel), _Goedemorgen/morgen _(good morning/morning).

**Spanish**: _princesa_ (princess), _buenos dias_ (good morning), _adios_ (goodbye)


	17. Tying Up Loose Ends

**Chapter 17 – Tying Up Loose Ends**

Rachel glanced down at Santana, who was occupying more than half of her bed and all of the covers. The Latina was fast asleep, hair sprawled in a messy fan over a pillow. Dry tears will visible on her cheeks and the brunette was clutching a sweatshirt that Rachel could only assume belonged to Brittany. When Santana let loose a whimper in her sleep, Rachel had had enough. She leaned over and shook Santana's shoulder, gaining no response. She shook harder and Santana grumbled, turned around and curled up into Rachel's front much to the petite girl's surprise. Who knew Santana Lopez was a cuddler?

"Santana," Rachel whispered into a nearby ear. She brushed stray locks of hair that had fallen across the Latina's closed eyelids. "Santana, wake up."

Santana grumbled some more and burrowed her head into Rachel's chest. Growing exasperated, Rachel placed both hands onto Santana's shoulder and shook her. Hard.

"What?" Santana's grouchy voice, hoarse with sleep finally garbled out her throat. "What's that matter, B?"

"I'm not Brittany." Rachel rolled her eyes and batted away a hand of Santana's that was suddenly plagued with a case of wanderlust. "I cordially invite you into my home in the middle of the night and here you are, attempting to molest me," Rachel snarked. She slapped away the offending hand that had snaked down to caress her hip.

Somewhere in Santana's sleep-fogged brain, it registered with her that the body she was currently snuggled up against was smaller than her own was. This was odd, considering that Brittany was a good few inches taller than her. And why was she suddenly annoyed by the sound of Brittany's voice? Too early perhaps? Brittany was always an early riser. She nosed the shirt that was conveniently pressed against her face, frowning when it emanated a slight citrus smell instead of strawberries. There were too many inconsistencies and question marks popping up inside her mind that Santana finally cracked open an eyelid.

Seeing Rachel's face so close to her own, elicited a yell and a tumble backward that led to Santana falling out of bed and onto the floor, her body landing most ungracefully with loud undignified thump. "Fuck, that hurt," she muttered, rubbing her bruised behind.

"Serves you right," Rachel said, peering down at the fallen girl from the top of the bed. "I really don't appreciate being fondled against my will, so kindly please keep your hands to yourself the next time you invite yourself over for an impromptu sleepover."

"What the hell are you talking about, Broadway?" Santana's head was starting to buzz and a headache was nipping at the base of her skull. The way her entire body subtly ached announced to the Hispanic girl that she had not gotten a good night's rest. "Where am I?"

"My house," Rachel replied promptly. "My room, specifically," she clarified.

Santana groaned and pulled herself into a sitting position. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"Fantastic question," Rachel said. She scooted over onto the edge of the bed and dangled her feet over the sides. "Are you always this disorientated in the mornings?" the diminutive girl asked, curiosity ringing in her voice as she watched Santana knuckle her eyes in an attempt to dispel the sleepy veil that curtain her vision.

"Are you always this goddamn chipper in the mornings?" Santana bitched out, now rubbing her temples.

"Testy in the mornings too, I see," Rachel observed. "Would you like to tell me why you interrupted my sleep regime of eight perfect hours with a phone call saying that you were at my front porch at two o'clock in the morning?"

Santana groaned and buried both hands in her hair. "Jesus, Berry, even at –" she looked down at her watch and promptly shrieked in horror, making Rachel recoil in shock. "–EIGHT o'clock? You woke me up at EIGHT fuckin' o'clock on a WEEKEND?" The disbelief and disgust in Santana's voice was enough to cause Rachel to giggle. "_Dios_, you're a freak, Broadway."

"It's nice to know that even in your quest to properly rouse to greet the morning, your arsenal of insults have remained intact." Rachel daintily hopped off the bed and plopped down onto the floor, opposite Santana. "You owe me an explanation for last night," she prompted.

Santana furrowed her brows, trying to kick-start her brain into spitting up memories of last night. Almost as if it were irritated by the girl's incessant badgering, her mind spat out a slew of memories that smacked into the brunette with a force akin to a volcano blowing its top. The Latina gasped as her mind's eye was suddenly assaulted by yesterday's events.

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_Santana placed butterfly kisses along Brittany's jaw, lips lingering on skin that was unaccountably soft. One hand was tangled in the blonde's golden locks, fingers carding through silky strands of straw colored hair. She shifted slightly so that her side was pressed up against Brittany's and was almost startled by the warmth radiating off her blonde counterpart._

"_San…" Brittany moaned. She tilted her head, her lips seeking another pair that was teasingly being evasive, dodging the blonde's attempts for a full fledged kiss. Growing utterly frustrated, she reached up with her good arm and cupped the back of the Latina's neck, bearing down until Santana reluctantly complied in lieu of not wanting Brittany to exert too much of her strength. _

_When their lips met, it was akin to an electric shock and both girls gasped at the contact. Santana immediately grew lightheaded as the taste of strawberries and cream soaked into her mouth, laying claim on her taste buds and dominating all her senses until she touched, breathed and __**thought**__ Brittany. _

_Brittany's entire frame trembled under the intimacy of the kiss; it was neither hurried or frenzied but simply a sensual brushing of the brunette's lips against her own. She whimpered as Santana tucked her bottom lip between her own and promptly began a lightly suckling, drawing out the sweetness that was simply Brittany. The blonde was aware of the Latina's hand leaving her hair to travel down her temple to caress her cheek before simply placing her palm on top, her thumb wind-wiping back and forth across an expanse of skin that had grown crimson from their activities._

_Santana was milking Brittany's lower lip for she was worth, sucking and intermittently swiping her tongue against the now swollen flesh. She greedily drew in the unique taste, knowing that she would never find a flavor as heady or mouth-watering as Brittany. Needing more, she poked out her tongue, its tip prodding between the seam of Brittany's lips, begging for entry. The Latina almost fainted as the blonde granted her entry and the tang of strawberries suddenly flooded her almost overwhelmingly. Their writing muscles began a sensuous battle, neither submitting nor dominating as each took turns to slid across each other, teeth and the roof of the other's mouth. Brittany was panting heavily, her heartbeat erratic as picked up from the EKG machine she was still hooked onto. Santana was quaking from head to toe, the emotions coaxed out from the now passionate kiss, scaring the brunette to no end._

_The Latina nearly fell out of Brittany's bed when there was a quiet knock on the door. She squeaked in surprise and pull her lips away from the blonde's, earning her a disapproving pout. Running the back of her hand against her lips, in a failed attempt to erase evidence of the pair's impromptu necking, for her lips were lush and swollen, still glistening with moisture, she cleared her throat and straightened her clothing as a second knock echoed into the room._

"_C-come in," Santana coughed, embarrassed at the raspy quality of her voice, soothed raw from passion. _

_The door opened revealing Santana's mother. "Hi girls," she greeted in a soft tone as she closed the door behind her and leaned against the adjacent wall. "I was just making my rounds so I thought I'd check in on Brittany. How are you, sweetheart?" she addressed the blonde, frowning when she caught sight of flushed cheeks._

"_Hi, Ms. Lopez!" Brittany's chirpy voice sang out. She fumbled around the blankets for Santana's hand, the smile on her face dropping instantaneously when Santana pulled her hand out of reach and scooted further toward the edge of the bed. A dark cloud descended on the blonde at the brush off. "I'm fine," she muttered, dejection evident in her tone._

_Maria hiked a brow at the blonde's sudden mercurial mood but put it off to a combination of teenage hormones and medication. "That's good to hear," she replied. She turned her attention to her daughter whose face was schooled in a stoic mask, her entire posture rigid with unknown tension. "_¿Estás bien, hija_?"she asked her daughter._

_Santana could feel the disappointment practically pulsating off Brittany and she hated herself for causing it. "_Si,_ mama," she mumbled, looking everywhere but Brittany and her mother. _

_Maria frowned again, knitting her brows in confusion as the palpable tension in the room spiked several notches. She had a feeling that she had interrupted something but could not quite puzzle out exactly what. Sighing, she glanced down at her watch and realized that she needed to make a move. "Okay, well you have my pager number," she offered in consolation. "Call me if you need anything."_

_The girls nodded mechanically in reply and Maria cast one more concerned look at the pair's direction before opening the door and exiting. _

"_What was that?" Brittany demanded once Santana's mother was out of earshot. She sat up a little straighter in bed, albeit a little slowly so as to not jar her healing bones. _

_Santana ran a hand through her hair as she turned to face an infuriated blonde. "Look, B__, it's not what you think," she hedged._

_Brittany shook her head, blonde hair whipping around her head. "It's __**exactly**__ what I think, Santana," she pointed out. She gestured toward their unlinked hands. "You pulled away when I tried to hold your hand in front of your mom." Her lower lip trembled. "I thought we were over this," she said, her voice shaking with frustration._

_Santana leapt off the bed and began to pace. "It's not that simple, Brittany!" She threw her hands up in aggravation. "My mom's not like your parents okay? She's not going to be all understanding like your dad, telling me that being with you is all rainbows and fuckin' unicorns even though she may not get it."_

"_If you don't even try, how will know how she feels?" Brittany asked sagely. "San, I thought you were going to try to__–"_

"_Goddamnit, Brittany, I __**am**__ trying!" Santana shouted, pivoting around to pin the blonde with a glare. "Practically all of Glee Club knows, your parents know, the fuckin' __**hospital**__ staff knows; what the hell else do want from me?" The brunette's chest was heaving, her voice fine-tuned with tension. _

"_I want you to tell your mom about us," Brittany stated firmly. She stared resolutely into stormy brown eyes that were burning with fury, refusing to back down._

_Santana growled deep in her throat. "No," she answered, her tone clipped. She stubbornly stood at the foot of Brittany's bed and crossed her arm defiantly. _

"_Get out."_

_Santana's eyes almost bulged out of her head at the short words. "Excuse me?" She shook her head, hoping to shake loose whatever had clogged her hearing because she was sure she did not just hear Brittany kicking her out._

_Brittany pointed to the door with her good arm. "Out," she stressed the word. Her voice was shaded with abject sorrow. "You promised me we weren't going to hide, Santana. You're breaking your promise."_

_Santana rubbed the back of her neck to soothe out muscles that had grown stiff with tension. "Brittany, please, don't do this," she implored the bedridden girl. "My mom was raised in a strict Catholic upbringing. She's not going to understand." The brunette's voice shook under the weight of her panic. "Don't make me do this." Brittany's ultimatum was a crushing weight on her shoulders and the Latina was sure that the pressure was going to render her unconscious. _

_Brittany's eyes squeezed out a slow trickle of tears. "No, Santana," she choked out. "You promised. I don't want to be your dirty little secret. Tell your mom."_

_Santana's fist clenched at her sides. Anger bubbled up within her until it caught hold of her tongue. The words it wielded out next were too late to take back. "Fuck this, Brittany. You know what? You keep pushing me to go out of my goddamn comfort zone and I'm __**sick**__ of it. Call me when you come to your senses."_

_With that, Santana stormed out of the room and the hospital. It wasn't until she had driven aimlessly around Lima for hours and ended up at Rachel's front porch that the insistent ringing in her ears translated into the biting words she had spat out to her blonde counterpart. Amidst the curtain of tears that had blurred her vision, she had called Rachel and when the girl opened up the door to peer blearily at her, she fell into the petite diva's arms and sobbed._

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Rachel bit her lip in contemplation as Santana drew the story to a close. She watched as the distraught girl wiped an angry hand across her face, blotting away tears that stubbornly fell. The diminutive girl finally sighed and reached over to pull her fellow brunette into a consoling hug, growing a little worried when Santana all but collapsed into the circle of her arms instead of tensing, returning the hug briefly before pulling away and tucking her vulnerable exterior back behind steel walls. She held the Latina for a while, humming softly under her breath and running her fingers through Santana's thick locks until the girl squirmed a little and broke free to lean back against the bedside table.

Rachel observed the disillusioned look painted across Santana's face and the haunted, pained expression reflecting from coffee stained eyes. "Look, Santana_–_"

Santana held up a weary hand. "Spare me the lecture, Rachel," she said. She slumped somnolently against the furniture and drew her knees up to her chest, looking the picture of despondency.

Rachel rested her back against the side of the bed. "I know that it wasn't fair for Brittany to push you into something that you're not quite ready to do but put yourself in her shoes for a minute." She pointedly ignored the Latina's glare as she continued. "You've ignored your true relationship with her for so long, masking it under…well for a lack of a better phrase, 'friends with benefits." Rachel grimaced at the apt but crude description. "How can you expect her not to be insecure when you blatantly object to telling your mother about the nature of your relationship now?" She cast Santana a sidelong glance. "She's afraid and you know where her fears originate from," she finished bluntly, not bothering to sugar-coat her accusation.

Santana gnashed at her bottom lip with her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "And what about me? What about **my** fears, Rachel?" An incisor stabbed down on the corner of her lip, eliciting a warning beep of pain. "My mother could kick me out; I could be pulling a Quinn and end up on the side of the road, _homeless_." Anguished eyes ran into Rachel's chocolate orbs. "I'm not that strong, Rachel. I pretend to be, but I can't…I _don't_ want to lose what family I have left." Tears were choking her voice, the pain so profound that it struck a chord in Rachel's heart.

The petite girl reached over and interlaced their fingers, giving Santana's a squeeze. "Coming out is hard," she said softly. "My dad told me about his and I'm not even going to reiterate what happened to him." She squeezed harder when Santana flinched at the implied disaster. "But, San _–_" Rachel's shortening of the girl's name made Santana look up in astonishment. They may have become friends but Rachel had never called the girl anything but her full name. "_–_ you need to realize that you **do** have a family. You have Brittany, you have me and Quinn and you have the Glee club. We may not be bound to you by blood but we're bound to you by friendship and love." Rachel scooted over and cupped Santana's cheek, unsurprised by the accumulation of tears shining in her friend's eyes. She was sure her own eyes looked the same, from the way the way her vision swam in and out of focus. "Tell your mom, Santana. It's going to be hanging over your head and Brittany's until you do. Brittany may let it slide eventually but this obstacle is always going to be the gorge that separates you two until you sort it out."

"I'm scared, Rachel. She's my _mom_." She emphasized the word and there was such longing and despair in her tone that it made Rachel's heart clench. "I know that she's not always there for me and that she's barely around but she's my _mom_. I only have one and…" her voice faltered and she hiccupped dangerously, her entire frame shaking.

Rachel nodded. "I know. I _know_. When my mom rejected me, the colossal hurt that stemmed from her refusal of a relationship with me affected me more than I want to admit. I had to remind myself that she was only connected to me biologically and that it was my dads who cared for me, put a roof over my head and offered me their unconditional love and support." She lifted Santana's face until their eyes bore into each other. "Let me offer you some advice." She paused for dramatic effect, because that's who Rachel simply was. "Sometimes, love is worth risking _everything_ for."

A sob escaped Santana and she leaned heavily into Rachel's touch, needing the comfort. When that was not enough, she lunged forward and Rachel was there to catch her, cradle her, soothing her with low murmurs of comfort.

"Tell your mom, Santana," Rachel urged. "We'll be here to pick you up if you fall."

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Maria glanced at her daughter sequestered across the cafeteria table, noting the way she fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. She observed the way Santana's eyes flickered back and forth between her and the exit, as if she wanted nothing more than to end this appointment and bolt out of the room. A part of Maria was wounded that her daughter would act so skittish around her but she chalked that up to the fact that she was hardly ever around for Santana to naturally confide in her as most daughters did with their mothers. The truth of this hurt but Maria had learned to swallow this bitter spoon of medicine a long time ago. She settled for reaching across to place her hand over Santana's, choosing to ignore the way her daughter jumped at her touch.

"_Hija_?" When Santana barely made eye contact with her, she sucked in breath and continued. "You said you wanted to tell me something?"

Santana's head was reeling, panic at the forefront with unadulterated fear bringing up the rear. Her entire body was humming with dread, her nerves frazzles senseless. Knowing the impending conversation was now inevitable was coaxing the Latina's stomach into uncomfortable acrobatics that made her want to lose her breakfast. She pulled away from her mother's touch, wincing slightly as a flash of hurt stampeded across the older woman's face. Picking nervously at a cuticle until it sang with annoyance and threatened to peel away to allow a flood of red to seep onto her skin, she jiggled her left knee, bouncing it up and down on the table in order to dispel her nervous energy.

"Mama," she began. Her voice was trembling and her tongue felt as though it were encased in lead, making it hard for her to vocalize her thoughts. "I want to talk to you about Brittany and I."

Warning signs erected itself in Maria's mind. There was an aura of anxiety around her daughter that was decidedly unsettling. "Brittany and you?" she parroted hollowly. She gripped the table's edge, sure that her daughter was about to drop a very toxic, very explosive bomb onto her head.

Santana flinched at the confused and panicking tone her mother had thrown out. She squared her shoulders and forced herself to look straight into eyes that were unerringly like her own. "Mama, Brittany and I are together." When that statement garnered no reaction from the older woman, Santana tried again. "I love her," she clarified. Again, there was a lack of a reaction from Maria and the younger girl took it as a very bad sign. She rocked back on her heels, waiting for the inexorable explosion.

Maria's mind was filled with a static buzz that reached down to irritate the sensitiveness of her eardrums. Above this buzzing was a dull roaring of her blood pounding through her ears, competing for airspace to make its presence known. The older woman gripped at the table until the joints in her hands protested and her knuckles jutted white. She stared at her daughter, her face a blank canvas of shock and disbelief.

Santana fought the urge to cower under the woman's baleful stare. Harder still, was to stamp down the instinct to slid out from behind the table and run out of the cafeteria. She cleared her throat hesitantly. "Mama?" Her voice was punctuated with fear and indecision.

Maria flinched as her daughter's voice drifted over to her. She stood abruptly, unable to process exactly what her daughter was telling her. "I have to go," she mumbled. She grabbed the pager that was on the table and clipped it back on.

"Mama?" Santana's voice was quivering and tears were building in her eyes. She leaned over and circled her fingers around the older woman's wrist. "Please," she begged.

Maria shook off the younger girl's grip. "I-I can't," she said. She clamped down her emotions as Santana let loose a strangled sob. "I have to go," she repeated dully and before Santana could restrain her again, the older woman walked briskly out of the cafeteria, leaving her daughter crying at the table.

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Quinn was absentmindedly sifting her hand through Brittany's hair as she lay next to the blonde, who was drowsing lightly against her shoulder. Propped on Quinn's lap was a storybook that lay forgotten once Brittany had succumb to a light doze. Quinn glanced down worriedly at her friend, noting the tiny frown and pursed lips. She started slightly when there was a soft knock on the door and Brittany jerked awake.

"Come in," the blonde burred sleepily as she readjusted her head on Quinn's shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric under the cheek.

Rachel poked her head into the room, eyes bright with concern, her lips pressed tight with barely contained anger.

Quinn sat up a little straighter upon observing the tiny brunette's expression. "Rachel?" she queried, apprehension coloring her voice.

Rachel shook her head and Quinn bit down on her lower lip in retaliation. Already in her mind, she was plotting a few choice words to say to one senior Lopez as Rachel ushered in a very shell-shocked Santana. Quinn barely managed to clamp down the gasp that almost spouted forth from her lips as she took in her friend; Santana's eyes were empty, devoid of any spark or emotion. Her entire posture screamed defeat and she clung onto Rachel with an air of a child having lost their entire world. Quinn gently but insistently nudged Brittany's head off her shoulder so that she could slide out of the bed. Quickly walking over to the Latina, she took her out of Rachel's protective grasp and pulled her into her own arms.

"I'm so sorry, San," Quinn whispered into her ear. She tightened her grip around the Latina when Santana's body quaked hazardously and a sob escaped from the traumatized girl. "It's okay," the blonde assured her. "It's going to be okay."

"San?" Brittany's worried voice drifted over to the trio who had sandwiched Santana between them, protectiveness radiating off their pores. "What's going on?"

Rachel broke away to answer Brittany. She walked quietly up to Brittany. "Santana told her mom," she enlightened the bedridden blonde.

No more words needed to be said. Tears welled in Brittany's eyes and she let them fall, needing the release. Guilt crashed into her when her eyes sought out Santana. "San…"

Santana looked up from the circle of Quinn's arms. She saw the guilt reflecting from cerulean blue eyes and gently untangled herself from Quinn, pausing only to kiss the blonde's cheek in thanks. She made her way over to Brittany, her legs shaking from the strain of carrying her weight after the emotional wringer her mother had put her through. When she reached the edge of the bed, Brittany's hand immediately latched onto hers and tugged. Santana acquiesced and she tried hard not to curl up into a fetal position at Brittany's side.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Brittany repeated over and over. She gripped the Latina's hand hard. "I thought she would be okay with it. She never seemed mean. I'm sorry, San. I just want everyone to get along, why can't everyone be happy for us?" the blonde hiccupped.

Santana's entire soul was beleaguered from the conversation she had had with her mother. Funny enough though, it also seemed like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and these conflicting feelings were threatening to put her under. "It's ok, B," she answered the blonde, her voice hoarse with emotion. "You were right, I needed to tell her." When she saw Brittany shake her head in denial, she stopped the bobbing of the blonde's head by palming her cheek. "Yes," she assured the blonde. "I don't want to hide us; I don't want to hide **you**. I love you," she declared, her voice growing stronger despite the tears that were still meandering down her face. "I don't want to ever hide that anymore. I shouldn't have to."

Brittany cried harder at Santana's confession and Santana sidled up to her, cuddling into the blonde carefully and interlocking their pinkies. Behind the pair, the Latina heard the door click open and close softly shut; Quinn and Rachel had left, giving the pair on the bed their privacy. Santana immersed herself with the scent, sight and sounds that were simply Brittany. She needed it, _craved_ it.

"I'm sor…"

"No," Santana rasped out, pressing a finger to the blonde's lips. "I'm not going to say that you didn't hurt me by forcing me to out myself to my mother, B." Rachel's words came back to haunt her. "But what Rachel told me was right. This issue was always going to come between us and if you didn't give me the push to do it, I probably would have dragged it out for a long time. It would have hurt you."

"But it's hurting _you_ now, Santana," Brittany responded, her voice strangled with guilt.

"It's a good kind of hurt," Santana admitted. "She might not accept it but maybe in time she will." She held up a hand to ward off another bout of protest from the blonde. "I promised you I wouldn't hide, B. This is me, keeping my promise." She reached down and brushed her lips across Brittany's in a chaste but significant kiss. "_Ik hou van je_," she murmured into the blonde's ear, her tongue stumbling over the foreign inflection of the words but still managing to form them out.

Brittany smiled, a watery smile that equal parts sadness, pain and pride. "_Yo tambien te quiero_," she answered back in Spanish, just as clumsily. She pulled Santana closer to her.

Santana rested her head next to the blonde's, soaking up their closeness. Perhaps, she lost her family of flesh and blood. She would not deny that it stung; having her mother, who was suppose to love her unconditionally, react the way she did was going to emotionally scar her for the rest of her life. However, out of it, she gained a girl who loved her for who she was and friends that had proved time and again that they stood by her side.

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**A/N –** Below are the Spanish and Dutch terms translated. Hopefully, correctly.

**Spanish:** _¿Estás bien _(Are you ok?), hija (daughter), _si_ (yes), _yo tambien te quiero_ (I love you too)

**Dutch:** _Ik hou van je_ (I love you)


	18. Love Me, Love ME

**Chapter 18 – Love Me. Love **_**ME**_

_Two Months Later_

"Okay, Bumble B –" Brittany's lips twitched at the epithet her physiotherapist had christened her with. "– rotate." He rotated his own wrist and Brittany mimicked him. "Flex." He gripped his second to forth fingers with his other hand and pulled his wrist back, Brittany following him. Then he pushed his wrist in the other direction, pressing down on his knuckles. Brittany followed suit. "Atta girl. Squeeze." He tossed a stress ball to the blonde who caught it with dexterous ease. Brittany held the item snugly in her palm and closed her fingers around it, squeezing the ball repeatedly; each time her fingers pressed into the soft object, her knuckles paled and the skin over it stretched taut.

"Good job, B," the blonde's physiotherapist, Milo praised. He lifted his hand slightly, palm open, silently asking for the stress ball back. Grinning, Brittany pitched it in his direction and he nimble caught the flying orb. "Alright, rinse and repeat,"

Brittany rolled her eyes but obeyed, diligently going through her wrist and arm strengthening exercises with Milo until the man called for a pause. He took over, bending and rotating whilst intermittently nodding to himself. Finally, he ended by tugging at each of Brittany's fingers, playfully singing "This Little Piggy" much to the blonde's delight.

"Your wrist has healed up good, B. Your arm too." He massaged her forearm, pressing and prodding gently. He migrated his hand up the blonde's arm and circled her biceps, urging her to extend her hand. Brittany complied and he began rotating her shoulder, pausing when she flinched slightly. "Collarbone?" he asked softly.

Brittany bit her lip and nodded. Out of all her broken bones, it was her clavicle that protested the most, waxing pain and agitation at every therapy session, though it had dulled to mere pangs. When Milo experimentally tugged at her arm, Brittany let loose a slight whimper.

Santana growled warningly when the sound of Brittany's mewl slid across the room to tickle her ears. She looked up, eyes the color of rich, wet earth, turbulent with worry.

Milo rolled his eyes in response to Santana successfully imitating a mini thundercloud. "Ease up, mama bear," he said, voice thick with exasperation.

"You're hurting her," Santana retorted. The Latina was sequestered in a chair slightly across the room, idly thumbing through a magazine. The brunette had insisted on being at every one of Brittany's physiotherapy sessions, refusing to take "no" for answer despite protests from Brittany.

"I'm _helping_ her," Milo snarked back. He massaged experimentally on the skin above the clavicle, tracing the bone until his fingers reached the point where Brittany's shoulder met her arm. He pushed against it, eliciting another wince from the blonde and another ominous growl from Santana.

"San…" Brittany warned before Milo could edge in another defensive remark. She looked up at the brunette who had dismissed the magazine on her lap in favor of watching the blonde's physiotherapist like a hawk. When her eyes ran into a disapproving pair of cobalt blue, she lowered her gaze and grumbled under her breath, resuming her flipping through the pages of the magazine, though with a little more vigor than necessary.

"Sorry, Milo," Brittany apologized. She truly liked the man, who acted like a big brother to Brittany and genuinely cared for her well being. He was good-natured, gentle, with a quick wit and a bright smile. "San's just being protective," she offered in explanation. When Milo rotated her entire arm, the blonde swallowed a grimace, not wanting to give Santana the opportunity to lunge across the room to strangle him.

Milo snorted. "Honey, do you remember how she reacted the first day you came for therapy?"

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"_Hey, B, I'm sorry I'm late. Some stupid jock held up the entire parking lot when his oversized truck suddenly died at the exit. I swear I was __**this**__ close to getting out of my car to…"_

_Santana's voice trailed off when she finally looked up from barging through the therapy room doors. The sight that greeted her made her heart plummet to the depths of her stomach; Brittany was propped on a chair, tears streaming down her face. Opposite her was a raven-haired man, decked out in jeans, shirt and a lab-coat, holding the blonde's arm and doing god only knows what. The Latina's brain threw rationality out of its repertoire as the man bore down on Brittany's arm, causing the blonde to cry out. She promptly threw her schoolbag onto the floor and marched up to the pair, slicing in between Brittany and man and wrenching his grip off the blonde._

"_Get your filthy paws off her!" Santana barked at the seated man. She poked a stiff finger into his chest. "Just what the __**fuck**__ do you think you're doing?" The brunette was seething and Brittany's sporadic sniffles behind her were blurring her vision red._

"_I'm Brittany's physiotherapist," the man replied evenly, rocking back on his heels. He kept his cool, knowing just how friends and family of patients reacted upon seeing their loved one in so much pain._

"_Some therapist," Santana sniped. She turned around and bent down slightly until her face was level with Brittany's. The Latina's heart wrenched at the sight of the blonde's face; Brittany's face was splotched crimson and tears tracked down the reddened cheeks. Her eyes had accumulated so many tears that it turned her irises a startling shade of silver-blue. "Baby?" She cupped a wet cheek and thumbed away glistening tears that continued to fall. Reaching up, she pressed a kiss to quivering lips. _

"_It hurts, San," Brittany sniffled. She used her good hand to tug at Santana's jacket, wanting the girl closer to her. Santana stood, followed the dancer's pull immediately and was suddenly so close to Brittany that her front was plastered against the blonde. Brittany lay her head against Santana's stomach, soaking in the comfort and warmth, her chest heaving from crying and the exertion Milo had put her through. Santana responded by threading her fingers through blonde locks that were slightly damp with sweat, murmuring nonsensical words of reassurance to Brittany._

_Milo observed the pair, a slight smile playing on his lips. _'Young love,'_ he thought to himself. _'Always so fiercely passionate.' "Brittany, we need to continue," _was what he said aloud._

_Brittany whimpered at this and Santana whipped around so fast that she almost knocked Brittany off her chair. "Are you insane?" she hissed, venom fairly dripping off each syllable. "Can't you see that B's hurting? Enough for the day," she ordered tersely._

_Milo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "She still has half an hour to go." When Santana spat out a curse, he held up a hand. "Look, I know it's hard to see her in pain, but she needs to work through it to get better." He locked eyes that were dark as coals, onto Santana's, which were burning with animosity. "You __**do **__want her to get better, don't you?"_

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Santana had the decency to blush as she recalled the incident. Her cheeks dusted over in a light pink tinge and she muttered some more under her breath, ducking her head down until her hair formed a curtain around her heated face.

Brittany cast her a sweet smile. "San's just protective," she repeated.

Milo shook his head. "Bumble B, there's protective and there's homicidal. I think your scowling knight in –" He paused to turn around to assess the Latina's attire. "–a bomber jacket and cowboy boots is leaning toward the latter."

"What does being gay have to do with Santana being all frown-y?" Brittany queried, furrowing her brows in confusion.

Milo chuckled at Brittany's misinterpretation of his words. After having worked with the blonde for two months, he had grown used to her unique brand of thinking. He was actually rather fond of it. "I just mean that maybe she's a little _too _protective," he elucidated.

Behind the pair, Santana scoffed her disagreement. There was no such thing as being overprotective when it came to Brittany. She thumbed through another page, her jaded gaze not even focusing on the slew of words and pictures.

Brittany shrugged. "Are we almost done?" she asked.

Milo glanced up at the wall clock mounted on a wall behind Brittany. "Ten more minutes, Bumble B," he answered. He continued guiding his patient through the exercises, easing strength and dexterity back into muscles that had grown slack from disuse. When he finally finished the last exercise, Brittany was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Beads of it glittered on a forehead that was crinkled with single-minded concentration and the tip of her tongue poked out between pink lips as she followed Milo's demonstrations and instructions. She sighed with relief as Milo gently lowered her arm back to her side. "Done for the day," he announced. He stood up and walked to a nearby table, picking up Brittany's chart and scribbling onto it.

Brittany fought the urge to leap out of her chair and across the room into Santana's arms. Standing slowly, she waited until the slight quivers and aches disappeared before stretching lightly, shaking loose worn muscles. By the time she was done, Santana had migrated across the room and was standing vigilantly by her side, eyes sweeping down the length of her lanky body, searching for any sign of discomfort or pain. It had become habit for the Latina to do this and it never failed to put a soft, indulgent smile on the blonde's face.

"Milo says I'm better," Brittany assured Santana. She leaned down for a kiss, one that Santana eagerly reciprocated. "I'm not like humpty dumpty anymore," she whispered against the brunette's lips before pulling away and reaching out to intertwine their pinkies.

Santana chuckled at the blonde's analogy and curled her pinky snugly around the blonde's. "So she's good, doc?" she addressed the man who was hunched over the table, pencil skittering across the page as he wrote down Brittany's progress. The propitious note in her voice did not go unnoticed; watching Brittany go through intensive physiotherapy was one of the hardest things Santana had ever went through. Every pained gasp resulted in her stomach twisting uncomfortably. Every whimper made her heart clench most painfully. Every tear that the blonde shed frazzled her nerves to nubs and brought on such a feeling of helplessness that it about tore Santana to shreds.

Milo completed a sentence then turned back to the pair. "Her arm and wrist have healed up nicely. Her collarbone seems to emit a few aches but I think if she just continues the routine exercises at home, they'll go away in no time." He focused his attention onto Brittany and smiled, tucking the pencil in his hand behind his ear.

Santana nodded. "Awesome." She wrapped a possessive arm around the blonde's trim waist, noting how Brittany's eyes drooped with exhaustion. "You ready to go home, B?" Brittany nodded, kissing her cheek in reply. Santana smiled. "See you next week, doc," she called out to the man.

"Santana," Milo nodded. "See you, Bumble B."

Brittany waved goodbye to Milo as she followed Santana out.

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Santana playfully chased Brittany up the front porch, reveling in the blonde's delighted peals of laughter at their childish antics. Upon reaching the door, the Latina dropped their bags onto the ground and promptly moved forward, trapping the taller girl between her and the dark mahogany wood.

"Pinned ya," she teased, quoting a certain Disney lion cub.

Brittany giggled. "Hey, lemme up," she mock whined, falling into the impromptu role playing quickly.

Santana chuckled and relinquished her hold. Just as Brittany was about to successfully wriggle out from under her, the brunette gently but firmly pressed her back up against the door.

"Pinned ya again," she husked into a nearby ear, her voice throaty with want. It wasn't hard to send her hormones spiraling out of control around the blonde; Brittany simply had that effect on her. However, having her flushed up against Santana's front was doing little more than wreck havoc on both the brunette's hormones AND senses and she was hard pressed not to lean in and capture pink lips that were simply _begging_ to be kissed. Despite her wants and urges, Santana did not think it wise to initiate a make out session in broad daylight for the Pierce's entire neighborhood to see so she curbed her more primitive instincts and settled for light teasing. And tease she did; Santana wasted no time in pressing their bodies tightly together until she hear Brittany's breath hitch.

"San..." Brittany's voice had taken on a breathy quality and the utterance of the Latina's name was caught between a warning and a moan. She stuttered as Santana nipped at her earlobe before swiping out the tip of her tongue to trace the shell of her ear. "Inside!" the blonde squeaked out, trying to dispel the wanton fog that had settled over the rational part of her brain. She gently but insistently pushed Santana away, earning the blonde an exaggerated pout. She chuckled at the hangdog look the brunette was sporting and reached out to tug at the shorter girl's jutting lip.

Santana scowled playfully and batted Brittany's hand away. "You're no fun," she sulked humorously, stepping aside so that Brittany could unlock the door. She bent down and scooped up their discarded bags, easily swinging their slight weight over her shoulder before following the blonde inside.

"Can you make me a sandwich?" Brittany asked sweetly.

Santana rolled her eyes but tossed the dancer a crooked grin. "Sure. Here," she handed their bags to the blonde. "I'll trade ya."

The pair parted with a chaste kiss and Santana began a languid stroll toward the kitchen, whistling softly to herself. She stopped dead in her tracks however, when her eyes smacked into the last person she ever expected to see in the Pierce's kitchen.

Maria. Her mother.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Santana growled out, her entire posture stiffening.

Her words sent the temperature in the room plummeting several degrees and the tension to spike up to unhealthy levels.

"Don't talk to me like that," Maria replied quietly. She looked intently into dark chocolate orbs that were brewing with acrimony. "I'm still your mother."

"Then act like one!" her daughter barked, her voice acidic.

"Lower your voice, _meisje_," Frank ordered as he entered the kitchen through the back door. He paused to pin Santana with a stern frown as he made his way over to the sink to wash his hands.

Santana was instantly penitent and she lowered her head in apology. Her only act of defiance remained obvious by her fists, which were clenched tightly on either side of her. When Frank made his way over to her to drop a kiss onto the top of her head, Santana deflated even further, leaning into the blonde man slightly.

Maria watched Frank interact with his daughter, flagrant envy stampeding across her face. She couldn't recall the last time Santana had willingly received such parental affection from her. Her daughter drunk on emotional upsets did not count. When the older brunette caught the almost unconscious way her daughter's body leaned into Frank's touch, jealousy crept into her veins like a slow poison, burning at her nerves and reddening her vision.

"Hey, San, can you put more peanut butter…" Brittany's cheerful voice faltered and trailed off when her cornflower blue eyes fell onto Maria, who was ensconced on a barstool behind the kitchen island. "Oh," the blonde said. "Hi, Mrs. Lopez," she greeted the seated woman in a solemn tone.

"Brittany," Maria nodded, feeling like a complete outsider as Frank bestowed the same gestures of affection on his eldest. She observed the not so subtle way Brittany edged around her father to stand next to and slightly in front of Santana. The older woman's heart gave an uncomfortable jerk when she realized that Brittany's stance was one born out or protectiveness; she was protecting Santana from _her_. The knowledge stung and the fingers that were curled around her coffee mug tightened to an almost painful degree.

Santana was grateful for both the Pierce's presence though she knew it would be short lived. Her mother wasn't here to make a house call after all. Her hand reached out, seeking its mate and was immensely relieved when Brittany met her questing fingers halfway, interlacing them together. The former cheerleader stuck her chin out in defiance when she saw the look of unease donning her mother's face at the action, almost as if she were daring the older woman to comment. Maria, wisely, kept her mouth closed.

For what seemed like drawn out minutes, neither occupant in the kitchen uttered a sound. Santana remained statue stiff, her grip on Brittany almost painful as it was desperate. Brittany's cobalt eyes darted back and forth between Santana and her mother, occasionally skidding sideways to meet her father's concerned gaze. Frank, himself, was externally stoic despite his worried look and not for the second time, he wondered if letting Maria have this opportunity to talk to her daughter was the best idea.

It did not surprise anyone when Santana was the one to break the silence. "This is ridiculous." The girl's voice was like a serrated knife, slicing through sinew and muscle that was the thick throat of silence that had descended upon the room. "Can we _please_ talk about the homophobic elephant in the room?"

Brittany's face scrunched up in confusion and she was about to open her mouth to ask Santana exactly where this elusive elephant was when the blonde found herself being tugged toward the kitchen door. "Papa," she whined struggling against his gentle but firm grip. "We can't go." Panic was bubbling in her throat at the thought of leaving Santana alone in the kitchen with her mother. There was pointy objects in the kitchen; pointy sharp objects that the taciturn brunette could wield against the older woman.

"_Lieverd_, they need to talk. **Alone**," he emphasized, effectively shutting his daughter's protest up. "We'll be in the living room," Frank addressed Santana, pausing to briefly squeeze her shoulder before leading his eldest out of the kitchen.

Santana refused to let go off Brittany's hand until the last possible minute. When she felt the blonde's fingers slip through her grasp, she looked up in sapphire blue eyes that awash with anxiety. Santana offered her a weak smile and Brittany mouthed "I love you" in response before disappearing through the door.

Now, left to fend for herself, Santana inhaled a calming breath before pivoting on the spot so that she was back to facing her mother. She schooled her face into an expressionless canvas and crossed her arms over her chest. "To what do I owe the pleasure, _mother_?" Her overly formal words were anything but cordial; in fact, hidden beneath that veneer of decorum, Santana's words sounded more of an insult than her original greeting.

Maria sighed and glanced down at her coffee cup, gazing hard into the dark liquid that was trapped in the circular confines of the ceramic mug. Her eyes traced the small wisps of steam emanating from the coffee, as if she could read answers to which she sought imprinted on each white curl.

"Why are you doing this?"

Santana's head snapped up, her eyes betraying the incredulousness she felt. "Are you _kidding_ me?" She pierced her mother with a disbelieving look. "Tell me you did not just ask that."

Maria pursed her lips unhappily. "It's not right, _hija_."

"Don't." Santana held up a hand in warning. "You do **not** get to call me your daughter when you're sitting there accusing me of being gay to spite you." She re-clenched fists that were twitching in agitation, itching to make contact with something solid.

"How do you know it's not just a phase? An…experiment?" The words felt dirty on her tongue and Maria fought hard not to choke on the sour dust it left behind.

"Brittany is NOT a phase!" The younger brunette's entire frame was shaking now, anger jetting down her veins like an icy shot of heroin. "I. **LOVE**. Her. I love _her_." She pointed behind Maria to where a picture of Brittany and her younger sister, Jaime was tacked to the fridge door. "It's that simple."

Maria shook her head and pushed away her coffee cup. "Santana, you're sixteen years old," she argued. "You don't know what love is." The older woman knew she was grasping at straws but she pressed on, in hopes of shedding light on this dark topic. "You're too young."

"Too young?" Santana echoed dully. "Too young to what? Understand what it's like to have someone love me, faults and all? Too young to understand that it's people like _you_ who make people like _me_ want to jump off buildings and hide behind a lie because my lifestyle doesn't fit your societal norm?" Santana prowled over and slammed a hand down onto the marble surface. "Tell me what I'm too fuckin' young to understand!"

The slap came out of nowhere and Santana reeled back from its impact, her hand reaching up to cup her cheek that was singing in agony. She glanced up at her mother, who was staring at her hand as if she had never seen it before, shock a blatant stamp across her face. For tense seconds neither spoke, each locked in paralysis but the sudden turn of events. Again, it was Santana who recovered first.

"Did that make you feel better?" Santana spat out as she tried to rub away the stinging sensation emanating from her cheek. "What, were you trying to slap the gay out of me?" The Latina's voice turned mocking. "I've got news for you, _mother_." The word "mother" had never sounded more vitriolic. "You can't slap away what I feel for Brittany any more than you can stop being a shitty excuse for a parent."

"Santana, I'm just trying to understand!" Maria had finally come to the end of her rope. She stood up so abruptly that she upset her stool, which toppled backward and clattered noisily onto the floor. She now stood behind the kitchen island, chest heaving, eyes wild with confusion.

"What do you want to understand?" Santana roared, her voice thick with impatience. "Do you not think this is hard for me? For me to admit that I have feelings for a _girl_? I've tried, damnit. I've _tried_." The Latina tugged a frustrated hand through her hair. "I slept around with guy after guy to convince myself I was straight. I hurt my best friend repeatedly for _months_ because I was too much of a fuckin' coward to admit that I was in love with her. I hurt her so bad that she went running into the arms of another _boy_." Santana's voice was now choked with emotion, pain wrangling her throat into a congealing mess of anger and hurt. "Do you have _any_ idea what it's like to watch the love of your life be with someone else? Do you?" She bored coffee stained eyes that were now so dark with anguish that they looked like onyx pits. "It hurt so bad that once when I was sitting in bathtub, my eyes actually roamed over the shaving blade." She let that sentence hang, knowing that the implication enough would rouse a reaction from her mother. It had not been Santana's intention to reveal that little incident but her tongue had become so loose with feeling that it had burst forth from the confines of her lips before she could take them back.

Maria gasped and her hand went up to cover her mouth. She bolted from behind the both of Santana's wrists, she turned them upward and yanked back her jacket sleeves, almost moaning in stark relief when she found unblemished and unscarred skin. She tightened her grip on her daughter's wrists when Santana attempted to pull away. "**Don't** ever think about killing yourself again," she whispered, her voice harsh and jagged. "Do you hear me? DON'T."

Santana wrenched herself out of her mother's grip. "Too much of a reality check for you, mama?" she sneered. "Well, keep up this holier than thou attitude and maybe I'll get _real_ creative and jump off Oldman's Bridge or something. I'm sure that'll get your attention, especially if it makes the evening news."

"Why are you doing this?" Maria cried out for the second time. She wrung her own hands, desperate to understand the folly that had taken over her daughter.

"I'm NOT doing anything!" Tears squeezed out of the corner of Santana's eyes, her emotions needing a physical release. "I'm gay. I'm **GAY**. That's it! I'm not doing anything wrong! Why can't you just love me for who I am?"

"Because you're going against everything I've been taught!"

"Then rethink what you've been taught! God is supposed to love us for who we are. Isn't that what the bible preaches? Love?" Santana moved forward and gripped her mother's shoulders, nails digging painfully into the fabric of her shirt until the older woman could feel the pinch of her grip on her skin. "Love _me_, mama. Love me. For who I am. I'm still your daughter. I'm still Santana! Please!" The girl was openly crying now, tears streaming down her face in salty torrents.

Maria clutched her daughter to her, holding her tight. She sobbed into the younger girl's hair, the pain radiating off Santana a tangible entity that swooped down to punch her solidly in the chest. The pair remained like this, tangled in each other's limbs, crying into the other's shoulders until reality crashed into Santana with an unrelenting force and she ripped herself out from the circle of her mother's arms.

Maria let her go and watched with a broken heart as Santana crumpled to the floor, scooting backward until her back hit the legs of a barstool that wobbled dangerously in response. She wanted nothing more than to bend down and reclaim her offspring into her arms but she was rooted to where she was by the conflict warring in her mind.

"You're not going to accept me are you?" Santana's voice was small, defeated and she sniffled, drawing her legs up to her chest, resting a quivering chin on her knees.

"I don't know," came the honest reply. Maria backed up to lean against the wall, the emotional gauntlet she was just thrown into rendering her spent and flaccid. She pressed herself against the unyielding surface, needing its support for her legs shook haphazardly, threatening to give out from her dead weight. "I…will you come home with me?" At this point, Maria knew it was an asinine question but the selfish part of her, the part that hated coming home to a house that was now more a mausoleum than a home, wanted Santana back in those four walls. She knew her daughter had been spending the majority of her time at the Pierces' house and whilst she had not officially moved in with them, her absence her own home was sorely felt.

"I _am_ home," Santana said, a trace of venom seeping back into her voice. She stared balefully at her mother's whose mercurial eyes were looking everywhere but her. "If you want me out of here, you'll have to drag me, kicking and screaming."

Knowing that arguing with her daughter would be tantamount to poking a sleeping lion in the eye, Maria acquiesced to Santana's unspoken demand. "Ok," she replied, her voice quiet. "Ok," she repeated. Taking a chance, she pushed off from the wall and walked over to where Santana was huddled on the floor, looking more brittle and dispirited than she had ever seen her headstrong daughter. She chose to ignore the way Santana flinched when she placed a cautionary hand on the top of her head. "Give me some time, Santana."

"It's been two months," Santana retorted. "If you can't wrap your head around this after eight weeks; eight more days, months or even years isn't going to make a difference." She tossed her head in an attempt to shake off her mother's attempt at a consoling touch. "Don't," she rasped, her voice scraped raw with tears. "Don't try to comfort me. I don't want it from you."

Maria swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, erasing lingering traces of tears. She stood on shaky legs and walked away from her daughter toward the backdoor. As she pulled open the door, she paused and turned back to zero her eyes on the spot where her daughter sat, now hidden behind the kitchen island. "I _do_ love you, Santana," she confessed softly to the girl. "I just don't know if I can love that part of you."

With those parting words, she walked out of the door.

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"San?"

Santana looked up from her position on the floor, her eyes devoid of emotion.

Brittany sat down cautiously opposite her, not quite liking the unearthly calm that was buzzing around the brunette. The blonde noted their seated positions on the ground. "Are we in Japan again?"

Santana chuckled and it was such a forced sound that it was equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. "No, B. We're in 'Santana's personal hell'."

Brittany gnawed at her bottom lip then tentatively reached out to touch Santana's arm only to have the girl flinch away from her touch. Brittany drew her hand back, hurt. "I'm sorry," she offered. A slight sound notified her to her father standing in the doorframe but she shook her head, indicating that he should go. He nodded and left, a frown marring the skin between his eyebrows. Refocusing back onto the brunette, Brittany scooted a little closer, careful not to touch her. "Santana?"

"Please, Brittany." Santana's voice was as cold as the blonde had ever heard it. "I _don't_ want to talk about it."

And just like that, it seemed as though everything the two had struggled through, everything that they had put back together in the last few months was suddenly and inevitably crashing down around them all over again.

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**A/N** – Don't murder me. I didn't intend to end the chapter like that, it kinda just unraveled that way. I'm going to fix it though! *runs off to start writing*


	19. Confessions

**A/N – **This is a bit of a filler chapter. I needed to write it to spur the events for the next chapter. Thank you to everybody who left a review, I appreciate you taking the time to type out what you think of the chapter and the story.

**Chapter 19 – Confessions**

"_Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been a little over thirty-six hours since my last confession."_

_The priest on the other side of the confessional panel sighed. "And what have you done in the last thirty-six hours to warrant another visit to the House of God, my child?"_

"_I spoke ill of my family." The words were laced with shame, so potently that it permeated the walls and soaked onto the priest's robes._

"_Why do you speak ill of your kin? They are your flesh and blood."_

"_I don't understand why they are acting the way they are." _

"_How are they acting?"_

"_Irrational. Unsympathetic to my plight. Angry." A pregnant beat. "Sad."_

"_And what drives these negative emotions?"_

_There was choked sob. "Me."_

"_You, my child? And what have you done?" _

_Santana sniffled and leaned her head against the cool oak wood that was the confessional box. "I gave my heart to another girl."_

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"_Mama, don't do this!"_

Maria sighed as she flopped down onto the couch in the nurse's lounge, fatigue screaming from every pore. Every since her confrontation with Santana, the older woman had thrown herself into work, picking up extra shifts and avoiding going home. Dark circles rimmed her eyes which were sunken into her head. Her pupils reflected a haunted soul, flogged repeatedly by the mess that had become her life.

"_Mama, are you there? Tell me what's going on with you!"_

Even through the static of the phone that distorted her son's voice, she could hear the nuance of desperation and censure in his tone loud and clear. "If you called to give me a lecture, _hijo_ –"

"_You're damn right that's why I'm calling," _Tomas' voice hissed out of the speaker of the tiny device._ "I get a call from my little sister in the middle of the night and all I hear across the receiver is sobs and cries. What the hell did you say to her?"_

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man," Maria said reproachfully, sitting a little straighter up on the couch. Her grip tightened around the cell phone that was plastered to her ear. "You know as well as I do that being gay is wrong."

"_Since when is loving somebody wrong?"_

"Why is everyone going on about love?" Maria cried out, carding a frustrated hand through her hair. "Tomas, your sister is sixteen goddamn years old. She wouldn't know what love was, if it came up to her and slapped her in the face."

"_So you decided to instill her with a reality check by slapping her yourself?"_

Maria went stock still, her son's barefaced accusation reaching across the phone to sock her in the stomach, forcing air out of her lungs with an almighty blow. The brunette suddenly found that she could not breathe for it was as though her lungs collapsed beneath her chest and the twin sacs were now unable to re-inflate themselves again to draw in a much needed breath. "I–"

"_You, what, mama? What?"_ Tomas asked. _"You've never laid a hand on either one of us until now." _The inflection of sadness was a railroad spike that pierced through Maria's heart, twisting for good measure. _"Why is Santana being in love with Brittany so hard for you to accept?"_

"It's wrong," Maria defended quietly. "God–"

"_God advocates love, mama,"_ Tomas cut in._ "And before you say it, love knows no bounds. It doesn't matter if you're ten or seventy-two; if that person says that they love someone, then they love them. It's that simple."_

"No, it's not Tomas. Do you really expect a ten year old to understand what it feels like to be in love?"

"_It's not something that one can teach or learn,"_ Tomas replied sagely. _"You have to __**feel**__ it and only your own heart can decide."_

Maria sank back down onto the couch, the cushion sagging under her weight. "You can't make me change my mind about this, Tomas." The older woman closed her eyes, hoping to block out the misery that had become her life. "I can't change the way I feel."

"_Neither can Santana."_ There was a rustling to be heard over the phone. _"I love you, mama. I truly do. But what __**you're**__ doing, shunning your own daughter, is wrong. If it wouldn't hurt Santana so much to leave Brittany, I'd yank her out of that conservative hellhole you call home and have her come up to Boston to live with me."_

With that, Tomas ended their call, without so much as a goodbye. Maria's hand remained cupped against the back of the cell phone, its speaker still pressed her ear, listening to the monotone "beep" that echoed out. She remained that way, frozen, with only the telltale signs of her tears meandering down her cheeks as an indication that she was a living being, not a carving made out of stone.

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"What's it like to be gay, Hiram?"

The smaller man started, looking up from the bowl of salad he was currently slathering with Thousand Island sauce. "Is this why you asked me to join you for lunch today?" The bespectacled man was awash in confusion and the tone of his voice gave it away. Frank had never bothered prying into his personal life before, simply accepting the man for who he was without questions.

Frank nodded and ran a hand through his styled blonde locks, mussing the waves up slightly. "I need a consult," he confessed as he arranged the slices of his BLT sandwich into an agreeable symmetry on the plate.

"This is about your daughter and Santana, isn't it?"

"In a fashion." Frank tugged at his tie, suddenly feeling as though the corporate noose he was forced to wear for work had suddenly shrunk two sizes and was now choking the confines of his neck with a vicious intent. "It's more about Santana and recent dealings with her mother."

Hiram sighed heavily, knowing just what road this conversation was turning into. He stabbed hapless stalks of green leaves onto the pointed end of his fork before bringing it to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he contemplated the best method to delve into the sticky topic that was frankly, his life. "I take it Santana's mother is not reacting well to her daughter dating another girl."

Frank scoffed into his sandwich. "Well? The woman is avoiding her daughter like she's the bubonic plague. Last week, she showed up on my doorstep, asking to visit with Santana and I allowed it despite my better judgment." He tore savagely into his sandwich, teeth gnashing down angrily onto the soft texture of the bread and cutting through the fillings of bacon, lettuce and tomatoes until he meet his second set of teeth with an audible "clack." "That _woman_," he hissed out around a mouthful of food. "–sent Santana into a near state of catatonia." He swallowed harshly and chased the lump of congealed food with a swig of soda. "The girl is fuckin' traumatized."

Hiram ran agile fingers under his glasses, rubbing resignation and weariness that had settled over his eyes. "Not everyone can be as accepting as you or Brooke, Frank." He took another bite of his lunch. "You asked me what it's like to be gay."

Frank nodded, blue eyes that had darkened to a steely gray from his livid anger, settling intently onto Hiram's unreadable chocolate ones.

"It's hard," Hiram replied simply. "Every day is a struggle, knowing that I have to go out into the world and share it with people who look down on me simply because I chose to be open about who I am. I'm belittled on the media, in the office, on the street, in the supermarket. I can't hold my husband's hand without someone doing a double take. I can't share a kiss with Leroy in the park without a lewd comment thrown my way. My daughter is teased relentlessly in school for having two gay dads. My private and public spheres are constantly attacked by scorns, sneers and insults."

"How can you say all that and remain as calm as you are now?" Frank asked, astounded. His eyes traced over his colleague's face, searching for any sign of distress or resentment. Instead, all he saw was a quiet acceptance reflecting off eyes that were almost serene, they were so still.

"I remind myself that I have a man who loves me wholly and a daughter who worships the ground I walk on," came the easy reply. Hiram took note of the way Frank looked at him; a combination of incredulity and "you can't honestly be that naive" were stampeding across the sharp planes of his face. He held up a hand to ward off what he knew would be a counterargument. "Look, Frank, I'm not being naïve or even in denial about what the majority of the world thinks about people like me. I know firsthand just how cruel people can be." There was a pause as the balding man ran a hand over his thinning hair. "My parents don't acknowledge me because I'm gay. They never kicked me out or anything but they simply stopped talking to me. I was like a ghost in their house after I came out to them when I was sixteen; invisible yet my presence was still felt. When I went off to college, I could almost hear their collective sighs of relief. The scourge of the Berry household had finally been erased."

Frank finally detected a note of bitterness from the shorter man and he coughed in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he offered.

Hiram regained his calm composure almost immediately as he waved off Frank's condolences. The shorter man's ability to resume a poker face was what made him a magnificent lawyer; he was always able to keep his true emotions under wraps. "Water under the bridge. I suppose the way my parents reacted was better than my husband's. They all but threw him out onto the curb." The bespectacled man wisely left out the part where his husband's dad beat his face black and blue, almost rendering him unconscious. The unpleasant memory caused his nails to dig quite involuntarily into the softness of his palm.

"You're not giving me much hope here, Hiram," Frank remarked sarcastically thought not without a trace of despondency. "What if you come with me to talk to Maria? Show her how the other side lives, so to speak."

Hiram rubbed at his temples, munching on another forkful of salad. "I'm not entirely sure that that's a good idea, Frank. Forcing Santana's mother to confront her insecurities might just make things worse."

Frank tugged at his tie again, a nervous tick born out of apt frustration. "How much worse is it going to get? She's practically estranged from her daughter. Santana's walking through the house like an empty shell and my daughter's constantly flitting around her like some panicky mother hen about to lapse into a nervous breakdown."

Hiram looked up at Frank, sadness marring the brown of his eyes. "You can't force Maria to accept her daughter anymore than I can stop being gay." When he saw Frank deflate and sag back into his seat, he reached over and tentatively patted the blonde man's arm. "Look, give it some time, see how things pan out. She may come around."

"And if she doesn't?"Frank dared verbalize this very real, very painful possibility. His heart ached at the thought of a certain brunette he thought of as his own, having to go through such heartache. "What if she disowns Santana?"

"Then she'll have you."

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"Confessions."

William Schuester underlined the word he had written in stark black letters on the whiteboard with a flourish. "This," he said, tapping the board with the end of his sharpie. "–is your assignment for this week."

There was the expected chorus of groans and intrigued murmurs, backed by soft shuffling noises as the Glee kids turned in their seats to whisper ideas and complaints to the person sitting next to them. The Glee coach cleared his throat for their attention, waiting until the ruckus tapered off into silence and all eyes settled onto the curly haired man. Mr. Schuester picked up a thin sheaf of papers and shook it open to reveal Sue Sylvester's latest crazy scheme:

"The Muckraker," he announced, a potent mixture of resigned exasperation and untainted disgust oozing from his voice. "Nothing more than a salacious propaganda meant to send the already viciously spinning rumor mill in this school into a feeding frenzy." He tossed it onto the piano's sleek black surface. "And despite the fact that everybody knows that whatever is printed on there is most probably untrue, it hasn't stopped people from retaliating against their friends." He pinned his kids with a withering glare, making them squirm uncomfortably in their seats. "I want each of you to pick a song that reflects something you want to confess." A pause. "And because I'm trusting all of you, this is going to be a private solo between you and the person you want to sing it to."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the Glee kids, making the older man smile in sympathy. Whilst he knew that this assignment would be a perfect medium to combat the vicious words that had become immortalized in that ridiculous newspaper, he also knew that being teenagers, confessing their fears, confusions and whatnots in front of their peers would not go down well with them. Luckily, he did trust his kids and therefore trusted them to do this assignment even without him being present to observe it being carried out.

"Alright." He clapped his hands for emphasis. "Let's get cracking on some ideas."

As the kids spurred themselves into motion, only two figures remained static. Brittany and Santana sat next to each other and were holding hands but even to the casual observer, they never seemed further apart. Santana's eyes were hollow, empty windows that had been erased of feelings and personality. She stared blankly at the front of the class, her gaze neither seeing nor searching. It was as if that the Latina was only physically in the room. Mentally and emotionally, the brunette might as well be residing in another solar system for she was distant and unresponsive, sporadically springing back to life only when Brittany turned to interact with her.

As for her blonde counterpart, the lanky dancer exuded tension. Torn between unflinching guilt and a deep-seated worry for the girl sitting ramrod straight next to her, Brittany's mind was currently spinning so wildly that she felt as though she was trapped on Tilt-A-Whirl ride that never ceased. She glanced down at their clasped hands, frowning at the unfamiliar sight. Full handholding was never part of the girls' repertoire; linking pinkies was their signature public display of affection. Had been since they were little. However, as of late, Santana refused that tradition in favor for rigid handholding. Whilst not opposed to the change, it was the way the brunette held her hand that scared Brittany; Santana's hold on her fairly screamed anguish, as if the mere act of physical contact with the blonde was excruciating. Her grip was also neither gentle nor comforting. Instead, Santana crushed Brittany's fingers within her own, bearing down on the blonde's digits until the brunette's knuckles were stained white.

"Santana?" Brittany had stopped the shortening of the girl's name without conscious thought. With the way things were between them and the emotional turmoil she had thrown Santana into with her mother, affectionate nicknames were about as inappropriate as they came.

"Yes?" Santana's voice was monotonous, void of any semblance of emotion. This was how she had been speaking, if she spoke at all, for the past week. Her replies were always clipped, forced words that were often monosyllabic and curt.

"I don't want you to come to my therapy session today."

"Ok."

Brittany bit her lip to refrain herself from saying anything more. This was another new development; Santana not arguing. She acquiesced to whatever Brittany said without asking for reasons why and this complete lack of interest and caring made the blonde's heart plummet to the pits of her stomach every time. Blinking back tears that were threatening to make a grand appearance, she slowly but firmly shook Santana's hand off hers, watching as Santana gave into her silent request without so much as a raised eyebrow. She observed the way the Latina's arm fell listlessly to her side, swinging slightly from the sudden motion before fall still and hanging like a lifeless limb. Had Santana's chest not been rising and falling gently with each inhaled breath of air, one could have mistaken her for an inanimate object, she was so deathly still.

"Don't you want to know why I don't want you to come?" Brittany was trying to get a rise of out the girl, anything to break her out of the carefully constructed shell that had solidified around Santana's fire and brimstone personality. There actually _was_ a reason why she wanted the brunette to be absent for her session with Milo after school; it had been an idea that had been cultivated from that fateful day when Maria showed up at her house but Mr. Schuester's current assignment had doused it into a growth spurt.

"Why?"

Again with the monosyllabic replies from an all too authentic robotic voice. Brittany lowered her head, allowing her hair to curtain the dejected look on her face. "Never mind."

Silence reigned supreme. Two girls who been through so much together, who had put each other through so much hurdles had finally reached their breaking point. As silence cantered around them, Brittany had to wonder if Maria's rejection of her daughter's sexuality was the final straw that broke the camel's already too fragile back.

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"Dad, daddy," Rachel greeted softly each man respectively as she slid into her chair behind the dining table. She picked up her fork and sank it into the tangled mound of pasta sitting on her plate, twirling the cutlery until strands of the cream soaked noodle twisted elegantly around the fork. Mechanically, she lifted her hand and placed the mouthful into her mouth, chewing without thought.

"How's my girl?" Leroy asked, a little concerned by Rachel's subdued mannerisms. He watched her eat, almost seeing the air of dispassion hanging over her head like a menacing cloud.

Rachel shrugged noncommittally and pushed in another forkful of food, her eyes downcast, her posture stiff.

Hiram, also having picked up on Rachel's uncharacteristic mood, but having more insight as to what was going on in his daughter's head than his husband, reached over to place a mollifying hand on her arm. "Honey, how's Santana?"

Rachel sighed and dropped her fork onto her plate where it landed with a quiet clatter. She briefly looked up into her father's eyes before trekking them back down to stare at her tepid meal. She shook her head and mumbled something unintelligible.

Hiram sighed, recalling the conversation he had with Frank. It was obvious, given Rachel's behavior that the Latina was severely out of sorts. He patted his daughter's arm consolingly.

Leroy watched his husband and his daughter, confusion marring the features of his face. As his eyes bounced back and forth between the pair, curiosity was a burning ember in his chest that ignited into a bonfire as silence trickled like a coy snake into the room, slithering around each occupant in the room. Finally, the tall man cleared his throat. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on?"

Hiram jumped a little, his husband's voice an unexpected intrusion that reverberated around the all too quiet dining room. He turned to address the taller man. "Santana came out to her mother…with less than desirable results."

Leroy remained unearthly calm, serene even. He stared into his husband's bespectacled eyes, his entire demeanor slowly sending the smaller man into a state of slow but unrelenting concern. An eyebrow arched when Leroy pushed back his chair and slowly placed his napkin on the table next to his mostly uneaten plate of food. "Leroy? Where are you going?"

"Out," was the cryptic reply before the taller man disappeared out into the hallway. There was a slight shuffling noise then the sound of the front door opening and closing could be heard echoing down the hallway.

Rachel and Hiram looked at each other. No words needed to be said. They both knew just where Leroy had gone.

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Santana sat on the steps of the church, her back against the railing. Dried tear tracks adorned her face, the single street lamp bright enough to highlight the evidence of her crying even amongst inky black night. She glanced down at the phone in her hand, noted how its screen flashed the words "missed calls" and "new text message" but refused to flip the device open to reply or call back. She knew Brittany would probably be in a panic, her parents too but try as she might, she simply wasn't ready to leave the place she had begun gravitating to ever since she last saw her mother.

"I see you are still at war with yourself."

Santana looked up startled by the sudden presence of another human being. The phone in her hand fumbled slightly before she righted it back into the palm of her hand where it sat snugly. Her eyes, unwaveringly brown and washed out by the tumult of her raging depression, ran smack into a pair of emerald green that seemed to glow in the night. It was the priest she had met back at the hospital chapel. "The world is at war with me," she replied mechanically, running a finger down the length of the spine of her cell phone.

The priest gave a soft groan as he lowered himself onto the steps next to the seated brunette. Settling onto his temporary perch, he dusted imaginary lint off his pants before turning to face Santana. "Conflict is a two player game," he said softly. "Both parties must engage with the other to create a source of conflict."

"So this is my fault too?" A trace of bitterness laced the girl's voice.

"Yes," the priest answered simply. A gust of wind sifted supple fingers through his mop of white hair, gently moving the strands about his head.

"Why do I have to share in the blame, I've done nothing wrong!"

"You've provided the other with the tools of conflict. Do you expect them not to pick them and wield them?" The priest's unnervingly green eyes settled onto Santana. "It is after all, human nature."

"But I've done nothing wrong," Santana repeated. Her voice was thick with tears. "I just want her to love me for who I am."

"Do _you_ love you for who _you_ are?"

Santana released a contemplative sigh before returning the priest's gaze with a look of resolute determination. "I'm gay." There. She said it. To a _priest_ of all people. She waited for some sort of backlash.

"And do you accept that about yourself?"

Santana frowned at the priest's lack of reaction to her confession. "You're not going to throw a bible at my head, telling me that homosexuality is wrong?" When the priest shook his head, a small smile playing about lips, the girl's frown deepened. "Why?"

"It is not my place to judge. Only God can decide your fate."

"It's _God_ and his preachers that landed me in this mess," Santana groused. "Yes," she answered his question. "Yes, I accept that I'm gay." Professing this seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders but as soon as her shoulders were bare, a new weight settled on it, feeling far heavier than before. "But my mother doesn't."

The priest reached out to pat Santana's knee, his heart wrenching slightly at the pained inflection that emanated from the girl's voice. "Conflict," he reiterated quietly. "Your mother has these tools and she's chiseling out a reaction that is not the pretty picture you want." He held up a hand to ward off Santana's interruption. "How can she carve out her acceptance of you when she doesn't have the guidelines on how to do so?"

"So, what I just let her go on hating me? 'Cuz it's really doing _wonders_ for my sanity."

"She doesn't hate you." The priest was firm with his words. "She simply does not understand."

Santana leapt to her feet. "You're damn right she doesn't understand!" The girl began pacing. "I'm not asking her to march down a gay pride parade waving a goddamn rainbow flag ok? I just want her to be happy for me. Why can't she just be happy for me?"

The priest looked up into eyes that were undeniably haunted. He knew what he was going to say next would be of no comfort to the Latina but he said them anyway.

"She has her reasons. Everybody does."

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"I'm sorry, who are you?"

Maria squinted across the table at the tall African-American man who was staring at her with an impassive mask on his all too still face.

"Leroy Berry," the man replied, his tone a rich baritone that was smooth as marble.

"Are you a patient?" The woman was confused with this impromptu meeting. One glance at her watch told her that she did not have much time to give to the man; her break was due to end in exactly ten minutes.

"I want to talk to you about your daughter," Leroy intoned, cutting past her trivial question and cutting right to the chase. The man never believed in beating around the bushes; it only wasted time.

Panic was a blister that festered and oozed fear in the pit of her stomach. She gripped the table's edge until her knuckles were white and pronounced. "What is it? Is she ok? Where is she is?" Maria fired off question after question, her voice hitched with apprehension.

"It's nice to know that you still care about your daughter's wellbeing." Leroy sat back and watched as the Hispanic woman's face morphed from one of alarm and anxiety to one of outrage.

"Just what are you accusing me of, Mr. Berry?" Maria's tone was suddenly so cold that the temperature in the room plunged several degrees.

"What do you have against gay people?" Again, Leroy bypassed the woman's question in favor of his own, which was harsh and brutal in its honesty.

Maria bristled. "That is none of your business."

"It becomes my business when my daughter comes home looking like a kicked puppy because her friend is in the throes of a raging depression."

A stab of guilt cut into Maria like a serrated knife. "What goes on in my family," she spat out icily. "Is none of your business." With that, the harried nurse stood with every intention of storming out when Leroy's hand circled her wrist, locking her in place. "Get your hands off me or I'll call security," she threatened, her voice low with anger.

"I apologize for being brusque," Leroy offered in compensation. "Please, hear me out."

"Why?" The woman's tone was frosty and scarily reminiscent of her daughter's. Her glare, punctuated by a deep scowl were obviously traits she had handed down to Santana.

Leroy shrugged.

Maria narrowed her eyes at him, dark eyes that had shield thrown over the pupils to give her a decidedly guarded look. Finally, though, she sat back down, though she made a show of doing it reluctantly. "You have five minutes." Her voice brooked no nonsense and she sat on the edge of the bench, blatantly stating with her seating arrangement that she was ready to walk out on this conversation at any given time.

"Why are you so against your daughter being gay?" Leroy prodded.

"It's wrong." Maria was getting sick and tired of regurgitating this explanation.

"Her being happy is wrong?"

"Don't twist my words," she snarled. Her fists clenched and they shook beneath the table, her anger a poisonous fume in her bloodstream.

"What's the real reason behind your rejection of your daughter's sexuality?" Leroy prodded.

"I told you–"

"No, you're hiding behind your faith." Dark eyes, the color of coal, bore into Maria. "My father told me it was wrong too," he began quietly. "They, like you were devout Catholics. When I started having feelings for boys, it ate me up inside. Bad enough that society's idea of a nuclear family consists of a _mother_ and a _father_ but add on teenage confusion and Catholic guilt…" Leroy's voice tapered off and for the first time, his calm composure slipped. He rubbed the back of his neck, pursing his lips as he contemplated his next words. "When I finally got up the guts to tell them, my _father_–" He bite the word out as though it were a live filthy creature that had shed all over his tongue. "–used me as a punching bag before kicking me out. He told me I was a disgrace, that I was disgusting, that the world would–"

"Exactly!" Maria's outburst caused several heads to turn their way and she flushed momentarily before readdressing the man. "Do you think I want my daughter to live a life where she's constantly going to be browbeaten by simple strangers on the street? Where society spits down on her because she chose to break free of its mold and strike up an alternative lifestyle? She's always going to be stared at, mocked at, talked about. Who wants that for their kids?"

Leroy nodded, understanding radiating off him. "When my daughter came to me saying that she was dating a boy, I was ecstatic. Her being straight meant that her life would have less snarls and forks."

"Then why are you being such a hypocrite, sitting there and basically accusing me about how I am being such a bad mother?" Maria seethed.

"Because what you just said pretty much sums up exactly what you're doing."

Maria gasped and rocked back in her chair, Leroy's words hitting her square in the chest like a two-by-four. She stared at the man whose gaze met hers unflinchingly, knowing that he had just thrown cold water laced with spikes of ice chips over her self-righteous façade.

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	20. Forgiveness

**A/N – **Thank you to everybody who left a comment for the last chapter. The review reply URL sent to my email did not work so I had to go into the reviews page for the chapter to reply to everyone and I kinda got lost as to where I stopped replying when I went out so if I missed anybody or replied twice, I apologize.

**Chapter 20 – Forgiveness**

Moonlight poured in through the bedroom window, an ethereal sheet of shimmering silver-white. Unburdened by the heavy hand of gravity, it slid down the wall and glided lazily onto the floor and over the heavy rug until it came to halt at the base of the bed where two figures lay entwined. Here, it seemed confused as to whether it should continue upward to shroud the figures in its glow because despite the intimacy of the figures' embrace, there seemed to be a palpable distance between the two. And, it wasn't just the tangible distance; it was the taste of desperation and helplessness that rolled off these two figures in nauseating waves.

The blonde, a tall lanky girl lay on the left side of the bed, her head resting on a pillow where her hair lay splayed out like a golden halo. She was cradling the smaller girl in her arms, one hand wrapped around the girl's waist in a manner that was dangerously desperate, as though she expected her bedmate to disappear into the dark of the night. In strict contrast, her other hand, which was palming the brunette's cheek, was an undeniable act of aching tenderness.

The brunette, all tan skin and corded muscles, lay on the right side of the bed. She was contorted into a near fetal position in the blonde's arms, knees drawn slightly up to rest against the blonde's thighs. Her head was tucked neatly under the taller girl's chin, her nose nudging the hollow of the blonde's throat. One hand found purchase on the blonde's t-shirt, fisting a handful of the now wrinkled material in a gesture that screamed despair. On the brunette's face were twin tracks of recently dried tears that marred the otherwise flawless skin.

Desperation. Helplessness. The light from the moon felt compelled to ease their suffering and thus inched its way up over the blanket until it came to a stop just over their shoulders. The light made sure that their faces were still obscured by the shadows that came out to play so as to not disturb their slumber. In its new position, moonlight became a second blanket, an incorporeal quilt knitted from particles of light. It lay there, hoping, praying that its presence would be a temporary balm for these two girls, who even in their sleep, gave off so much pain.

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"No."

Quinn stared at Rachel with an odd mixture of aghast and perplexity. "No?" she echoed, her voice betraying the emotions that the blonde was sure was parading across the delicate features of her face.

Rachel looked hard into Quinn's hazel eyes, her brain momentarily sidetracking as it took in the ebb and flow of green, brown and gold that was the color of the blonde's pupils. Forcing herself to snap out of a "Quinn's-Eyes-Are-Mesmerizing" haze, Rachel jerked her head stiffly. "No," she confirmed. She planted her feet in a wide stance and sent her arms akimbo, letting the new posture of her body back up her vocal refusal.

"Why the hell not?" Quinn raked a frustrated hand through her hair as she took a tiny step forward only to propel Rachel into taking the same tiny step, only backward. A flash of hurt flickered across her face at the abrupt movement. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly.

Rachel had the decency to look abashed. "My apologies," she replied. She reached up to play with the star necklace hanging around her neck, a nervous tick that occurred whenever she found herself in a sticky situation. "Quinn, let me be frankly honest here." She paused to suck in a dramatic breath. "I don't, no; I _can't_ endure another 'Brittany/Santana Song Confession'." Panic ran rampant across her chocolate eyes. "Once was quite enough, thank you very much." The diminutive girl winced as she recalled back to the time where she had helped Santana procure the Lima Community Theater for her plan to serenade Brittany.

Quinn returned the gesture with a grimace, the memories of that fateful day forever burned into her psyche. No amount of hypnosis, drugs or alcohol could make her forget the hurricane of emotions that had brewed, bubbled and then exploded with gargantuan force all over them from Santana's song. It had been beautiful, excruciating and torturous all at the same time.

"Look, it's not my favorite pastime either but Brittany came to me for help." Quinn leaned against the sleek black piano and absentmindedly ran a lone finger along its edge. "She's been working on it all week and it is actually part of Mr. Schue's 'Confession' assignment." She lifted her head to look at Rachel who had deflated onto the piano bench, shoulder slumped forward in defeat. "I just need you to get Santana into the auditorium at the end of the day, ok?"

Rachel blew out a resigned sigh and dropped her head into her hands, her fingers digging into her chestnut brown hair and tugging slightly. "Fine." Her voice was muffled and Quinn could only imagine that she was nibbling at her lower lip in agitation. "But I'm leaving right after. This 'Brittana Drama' is wrecking havoc on my sanity."

Quinn's lips quirked at the mash-up name Rachel had bestowed upon the two absent girls. She reached over and squeezed the smaller girl's shoulder. "Thank you, Rachel." When Rachel looked up at her, her smile widened. "How 'bout we grab some ice-cream after we get our respective charges where they need to be?"

"You're not planning to give me an ice-cream facial are you?" Rachel asked warily. Her friendship with Quinn was tentative at best; a product from Brittany and Santana's melodrama and the threads of their new bond was so fragile that it was nearly non-existent. The tiny diva could not help it when old insecurities crept about, especially given her and Quinn's rather ugly history.

Quinn lowered her gaze, eyes sweeping the floor as guilt crawled up her throat like acidic bile. "No, Rachel," she said quietly, her regret at having treated the brunette evident in her voice.

Rachel squirmed uncomfortably on the bench, the inflection of culpability in Quinn's voice buzzing angrily against her ears. "I'm sorry," she offered as a white flag. "At times, my doubts and apprehensions override the filter from my brain to my mouth." She reached over and place her hand on top of Quinn's, earning her a relieved half-smile from the blonde. "I would love to accompany you to the ice-cream parlor after school."

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Santana sat ramrod straight on a seat on the front row of the auditorium, her entire posture stiff and perturbed. Rachel had all but corralled her in here, the petite girl's strides determined and unyielding. She had led Santana down the rows of seats until they reached the edge of the stage. There, she had all but yanked the Latina's backpack off her shoulders, tossed it onto the floor before reaching up to gently but insistently push Santana to sit. Without uttering so much as an explanation for her decidedly odd behavior, Rachel simply muttered a "good luck" to her before turning to leave. The girl had paused mid-stride, however to turn back to tell Santana "no running" before marching post-haste out of the room.

Now, armed with cryptic messages and an aura of bewilderment, Santana sank back into her seat, attempting to score a comfort seating position. When the lights dimmed abruptly, the Latina jumped slightly, her skin suddenly humming with equal parts anticipation and trepidation. The buzzing sensation on her already sensitized nerves spiked several notches when Brittany appeared out from the side of the stage…with a guitar.

"Brittany?" Santana's voice mirrored the confusion twisting her face. She moved to stand but settled back down when Brittany raised a hand.

"Mr. Schue told us to find a 'Confession' song to sing to someone," Brittany said, her voice soft, hesitant. She walked over to a lone stool that had somehow bypassed Santana's line of vision. "Well, this one is mine." She sat down on the stool and propped the base of the guitar on her lap.

"Brittany–"

Brittany shook her head even as one set of fingers fumbled with the guitar pick and the other struggled to settle onto the right strings at the guitar's neck. It was blatantly obvious to Santana that Brittany was decidedly unfamiliar with the instrument. She would know; she had never seen Brittany play anything, let alone a guitar.

"Just, listen, San." Brittany reverted back to using the Latina's nickname, smiling slightly to herself at the way the abbreviated name rolled off her tongue like sweet honey. "Please?"

Santana acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Whatever Brittany was about to sing, she knew it wouldn't be light hearing. The Latina gripped the armrest, needing a sense of physical release to combat the slew of emotions she knew was going to cut into her soul from the moment Brittany started singing.

Brittany stared hard at the guitar, her eyes boring into the hapless instrument. She took a deep, cleansing breath, needing to focus every last ounce of her attention on this performance. Righting her hand on the guitar's neck, she positioned her fingers at their needed positions. Her other hand lay poised over the belly of the guitar, her thumb and forefinger clutching the pick with an almost painful intensity.

Then she began to strum.

Santana was suddenly awash in the mellow notes made by Brittany's guitar. The blonde's playing was slightly clumsy from inexperience, the melody she was churning out a tad sloppy but the tone of sincerity was potent and it made Santana's heart seize. When the blonde opened her mouth to sing, the Latina's heart nearly caved in on itself trying to thud its way out of the confines of her ribcage.

_In the moonlight_

_Your face it glows_

_Like a thousand diamonds _

_I suppose_

Brittany sang with conviction, her voice shaky with the strain and effort of stamping down tears that wanted nothing more than to make a dramatic appearance by clouding over her vision. She momentarily gripped the guitar's neck a little too hard, sending a clatter of notes to go askew but managed to regain the rhythm of the song.

_And your hair flows like_

_The ocean breeze_

Brittany looked up to offer Santana a soft smile. Santana, already speechless by the lengths Brittany went through to be able to sing and play this song for her, returned the gesture by offering Brittany a weak smile of her own.

_Not a million fights_

_Could make me hate you_

Santana clamped her lips shut when a sob escaped unwanted. She felt more than heard the truth of those lines from Brittany; it was like a tangible fist that slammed into her chest, forcing Santana to acknowledge that the blonde loved her no matter what. The information was familiar as it was terrifying.

_It's in your eyes_

_Where I find peace_

Brittany's finger had found their groove, falling into days of repeated playing with ease, allowing the blonde to lock eyes with Santana. Her eyes remained miraculously dry but she knew that her heart was crying rivers of tears that drowned her soul. The lyrics were held the absolute truth; one look from Santana and Brittany would feel safe. It didn't matter if the world was crumbling at her feet; all she needed was to look into Santana's eyes to feel grounded. All she needed, was Santana.

_Is it broken?_

_Can we work it out?_

_Let's light up the town, scream out loud_

Santana, in an unashamed display of her emotions, allowed salty tears to drop from her eyes. She knew what Brittany was asking, what she was confessing. The very fact that this confession was a result from Santana's recent actions made her heart tear.

_Is it broken?_

_Can we work it out?_

_I can see it in your eyes_

_You're ready to break_

Brittany's eyes, a clear sky blue, never wavered from Santana's coffee orbs. She knew that Santana was hurting, knew that forcing the girl to confront her mother about their relationship and therefore, her sexuality, was tearing her apart. Brittany also knew that she was to blame.

_Don't look away_

Santana couldn't look away even if tried. Every iota of her being was irreversibly attuned to the girl on the stage, who was pouring her heart out and laying her soul bare. It was a sight that Santana felt she was not worthy of.

_So here we are now_

_In a place where_

_The sun blends in_

_With the ocean thin_

_So thin we stand_

_Across from each other_

Brittany wasn't stupid. She had felt Santana pull away, felt the distance grow between them until it was like hot coals against her skin. It hurt more than she thought possible. After everything they went through, life decided to up cruelty another notch and toss in the grenade that was Maria's rejection of her daughter. Brittany also knew that Santana did not mean to pull away, it was simply a defense mechanism, born from years of fending for herself. This knowledge did not make the pain any less painful.

_Together we'll wonder_

_If we will last these days_

Santana flinched at those lyrics. Did Brittany really think that they couldn't go the distance? Why shouldn't she, given the way Santana acted the past few weeks? Her left hand formed a perfect fist, nails digging crescent imprints into the soft skin of her palm. The part of Brittany's confession was akin to a slap on the face; Santana was doing the one thing she swore she would never do again: push Brittany away.

_If I asked you to stay_

_Would you tell me_

_You would be mine?_

Brittany's voice cracked under the implication of those lines, her insecurity about where she now stood with Santana sending her own heart thudding all too violently against her chest until she was sure that the insides of her skin were tattooed black and blue. Was Santana hers? Did she even want to be?

_And time_

_Is all I ask for_

_Time_

_I just need one more day_

Brittany's voice implored Santana to reconsider, as if the brunette were already in the middle of walking away. One stubborn tear sprung out to cling onto her eyelashes and Brittany blinked rapidly to dislodge it only to have it splash down her cheek, wetting the surface of pale skin.

_And time_

_You've been crying too long_

_Time_

_And your tears wrote this song_

_Stay_

Santana couldn't take it anymore; the utter pain in Brittany's voice was too much to take and she was pretty sure that her soul had been shredded beyond recognition. She leapt out of her seat, and without slowing her momentum, vaulted onto the stage and ran headlong at Brittany. Upon reaching the girl, she forced her to halt her playing when she took her Brittany's face in her hands and pressed their lips together in a firm kiss. Santana poured everything into that kiss. Her fears. Her sorrow. Her apology. Her promises. And, above all, her love.

Shocked into paralysis, Brittany failed to respond, remaining limp and unmoving under Santana's administrations. It was only when Santana's tongue peeked out to swipe over her lower lip that Brittany felt something akin to a rubber band snap in her chest. She reached out to pull Santana to her, the guitar crushed between their bodies, and flung her arms around the girl's neck. She finally returned the kiss with fervor, returning each unspoken emotion with one of her own. She kissed Santana with everything she had, letting the brunette claim her as much as she claimed Santana.

Lips slid over each other, aided only by the girls' passion. A top lip slipped in between a pair of swollen lips before moving away to allow a lower lip to be suckled. Mouths yawned open to allow the entrance and exit of writhing tongues who met their mate with a giddy excitement that could only be born out of a balanced combination of lust, love and trust. Hands roamed the canvas that was the other girl's body, retracing, rememorizing every dip, plane and curve even as their mouths, lips, teeth and tongue did the same. The both girls had desperately sought this physical reconnection since their rift, both physical and emotional. Occasionally, a vocal murmur of affection and devotion would make its way out of an otherwise occupied mouth to pepper the air but it was the physical exploration that did most of the talking.

It seemed as though an eternity passed when Santana finally pulled away only to lean her forehead against Brittany's because any further distance was simply to awful to contemplate. Her hands remained cupped against either side of Brittany's cheek, pressing slightly to soak up the silky softness and gentle warmth that radiated from the blonde.

"I love you," Santana vowed, her voice quivering under the weight of her emotions. "I love you," she repeated firmly. "I'm so sorry about these past few weeks. I'm not going anywhere, B. I promise you." Thinking that her words were inadequate in expressing the depth of her sincerity, she leaned in again to press her lips against the blonde's in a lingering kiss that was languid and chockfull of feeling. "I'm going to be right here, by your side. Forever." The tone of conviction left no doubt that Santana meant every word.

Brittany's eyes shone with tears that she had fought so hard to suppress. She briefly broke free out of Santana's embrace to shimmy out of the guitar. Placing it onto the floor, she then all but launched herself into Santana's arms, barely managing to curb the urge to sob hard and long into the Latina's chest.

"I'm sorry about pushing you to tell your mom," she confessed, anguish and guilt coating her words. "I just don't want to hide you. I love you. Please don't leave me. Forgive me!"

Santana rained kisses into Brittany's hair, inhaling sharply to take in the scent of strawberries that always seem to cling onto the blonde. "There's nothing to forgive," she replied tearfully. "You've done nothing wrong. _Nothing_." Santana's arms ran soothing lines up and down the expanse of Brittany's back. "I'm the one that should be sorry; I pulled away again. I swore never to do that to you ever again and I fell right back into it." She canted her head and ghost kiss after kiss down the side of Brittany's face. "I love you," she whispered reverently. "I love you." Tears meandered down her face but she made no move to remove any evidence of it.

Brittany clung tighter to Santana and buried her face into the Latina's shoulder. "I love you too," she choked out. "I love you."

The girls were once again entwined around each other but this time, anyone watching would have noted the absence of the distance that once resided between two like a physical entity.

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**A/N 2 – **Song used is "Broken" by Secondhand Serenade.


	21. Acceptance

**A/N –** There's spoilers from the Glee episode, Prom Queen (2x20). I used a Brittany quote; I just _had_ to throw it in 'cuz no matter how many times I hear it, it never fails to send me crashing to the ground laughing. It probably had a lot to do with HeMo's facial expressions when she read the line but the quote itself is quite hilarious. Enjoy!

**Chapter 21 – Acceptance**

"Santi?"

Santana groaned internally, knowing exactly what that tone meant. Brittany often used that tone when she wanted something and it never failed to make Santana cave. It was obviously genetic because this little voice held the same inflection. She pivoted on the spot and ran smack into a pair of beseeching blue eyes that sparkled with expectation.

Jaime Pierce stood before Santana, holding up a bag of gummy bears. Her face was set into a perfect mask of persuasion and pleading, complete with a pouting lip and comically wide puppy dog eyes. The devil himself could not ignore this face. The Latina sighed and looked around conspiratorially before holding out her hand for the proffered item.

"Give it here, lil' bit," she whispered theatrically, her eyes still scanning her surroundings. Jaime relinquished her spoils with a victorious giggle and Santana quickly tossed it into the trolley, making sure that that forbidden item slid in between the bag of frozen peas and the box of cereal. "If your mama saw that she would kill both us."

"If I saw what?" As if on cue, Brooke appeared from around the corner, her arms laden with two loaves of bread and a sealed bag of apples.

"Nothing!" Santana and Jaime replied quickly, both flushing simultaneously when Brooke raised a suspicious eyebrow at the pair.

"Here, let me help you with those," Santana offered in an obvious attempt to divert Brittany's mother's attention. She hurried toward Brooke and relieved her of the groceries in her arms. The brunette strategically dumped them on top of the mostly hidden bag of candy then straightened up with a mischievous grin. She turned to Jaime who was planted by her side and give the tiny blonde a subtle wink which sent the girl into a fit of renewed giggles.

Brooke rolled her eyes at the pair's antics. She knew that she would expect a hidden surprise come checkout time at the cashier but she didn't have it in her heart to reprimand the girls. "Alright, you two. We're almost done here. Why don't you go find Brittany? You know how she likes to wander around the grocery store." She took her position behind the trolley and began rolling it forward, Santana and Jaime trailing next to her. "I'll meet you guys by the milk section."

"Gotcha." Santana looked down at the little girl. "C'mon, J. Let's go find Britt." When Jaime lifted up her arms, a silent requested to be carried, the brunette automatically bent to acquiesce to the girl's request. Brooke's clearing of her throat and a pointed stare had Santana mumbling a barely intelligible apology before she settled for interlacing her fingers with Brittany's little sister. Jaime's exaggerated pout at being denied last all of thirty seconds; the second the pair disappeared round the end of the aisle, Santana swept the girl off her feet and propped her securely on her hip. Jaime unleashed a toothy grin and dropped a sloppy kiss on the Latina's chin.

"Love you, Santi."

Santana chuckled and reached up to ruffle the girl's wavy blonde locks. "Love ya too, squirt. Even if you constantly get me in trouble with your mama."

The pair walked in comfortable silence, scouring the place for one missing blonde dancer. They ended up finding Brittany by the poultry and eggs section, her head canted in the most adorable manner as her Prussian blue eyes gazed intently at the rows of egg cartons lined up on the shelves.

Santana sidled up behind Brittany and used her free hand to brush some hair away from the blonde's neck to deposit a gentle kiss. "Why so serious?" she husked into the taller girl's ear.

Brittany jumped a little at the unexpected arrival of Santana and her little sister. She paused to kiss them both, though her lips lingered a little longer than necessary against Santana's cheek. When she pulled back, she met Santana's questioning coffee eyes and sighed. "I don't get it."

Santana pressed her arm up against Brittany's hoping to alleviate the blonde's obvious distress. "What don't you get, baby?" She jiggled Jaime slightly, shifting the little girl's weight more comfortably on her hip. Jaime responded by wrapping her legs more tightly around Santana's waist.

Brittany jutted out her bottom lip, a look reminiscent to Jaime's prior one. "I just don't understand the difference between an egg with a baby chicken inside of it and an egg with an egg in it," she said, looking forlornly at the object in question. Her brows were scrunched together and she was chewing her lip in contemplation.

Santana sighed good naturedly, well versed in the tangents Brittany's mind often ran off to. "They're the same thing, B," she explained patiently.

The blonde's lower lip pouted even more and her brows furrowed further, creating a barely visible line of frustration between them. "But that's really confusing, San." One lone finger reached out to trace the top of an egg carton. "That means this is a baby chicken's house." She tapped the carton then turned confused eyes onto Santana who was calmly waiting next to her. "Aren't they gonna get cold living inside this freezer?"

Santana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wisely remained silent as she waited for her brain to spit out a Brittany appropriate answer. "These eggs don't have baby chickens inside of it." There. The truth was always simpler was it not?

"Then where do the baby chickens live?"

Apparently not. Santana worried her bottom lip with her teeth, wondering just how she was going to get out of this conversation with her sanity intact. She turned to trade a look with Jaime who only offered a grin, her young mind not quite able to process the strange conversation taking place before her. Santana bussed the side of the girl's temple with another quick kiss to buy herself some time.

However, before she could come up with an answer to appease a quietly waiting Brittany, the sound of her name being hesitantly called caused the Latina to snap her head up. Her eyes met those of her mother and immediately went stone cold. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was arctic, her entire posture stiff with tension. She traded Jaime off into Brittany's arms, and then proceeded to stand in front of the two blondes, a physical barrier that divided them from her mother. She did not want Maria anywhere near them; the older woman being this close to her was already making her skin crawl.

Maria lifted her shopping basket in reply and received a curt nod in return. Exhaling slowly, the older woman took a small step forward, faltering slightly when Santana all but snarled at her. She backtracked and resumed a safe proximity between her and her daughter. "We need to talk," she finally spoke up.

Santana barked out a laugh. "I have nothing to say to you."

Maria bit back an admonishment to the way her daughter was addressing her. "Please," she implored the younger brunette. "I want to try to make amends."

Santana scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. "Why the sudden change of heart, _mother_? Had enough of feeling like a deadbeat?"

"San…" Brittany placed a soothing hand on her girl's shoulder and Santana deflated a little, leaning into the warm touch for comfort.

Maria chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she didn't have much to stand on. She was about to open her mouth to repeat her request when a new voice piped up from behind her.

"There you three are. I was beginning to think you guys got lost." Brooke pushed the cart toward the small party gathered by the eggs. "What are you guys…" Her voice trailed off when she came to an abrupt stop by Maria who was looking despondently at Santana. "Oh." Brooke's eyes darted between the two brunettes, almost tasting the animosity rolling off Santana in waves. She noted the way the girl stood defiantly in front of her daughters, a protector to the very end. "Hello, Maria," she addressed the older Latina quietly, her voice neither welcoming nor unpleasant.

"Brooke," Maria nodded, sensing the newly arrived blonde's uncertainty. She decided to cut to the chase. "Santana," she turned back to her daughter. "I meant what I said. I need to talk to you. To both of you." Her eyes met Brittany's cobalt gaze, flinching slightly when she was hit with unwavering sadness emanating from the blonde. Despite everything going on, Maria's soft spot for Brittany remained and seeing the girl looking so hurt was weighing heavily on her conscience. "Please," she said, addressing the two teenagers. Her voice was tinged with desperation and apology.

Santana, her body thrumming with tension and doubt looked over her shoulder at Brittany, letting the blonde take the reins. A slow nod and a squeeze on her shoulder from Brittany's hand had the brunette sighing in resignation. "Fine," she answered grudgingly.

"Thank you." Maria chanced a glance at Brooke who remained stonily next to her. Again, she received no reaction from the elder blonde. "Come home tomorrow night. I'll make dinner."

Santana pursed her lips at the word "home," knowing that the Pierce's house was more home to her than her own would even be. Wisely, though, she remained silent. "Fine," she said again, her voice flat and emotionless. Needing something to distract her, she turned and deftly plucked Jaime out of Brittany's arms, cuddling the smaller girl to her bosom. Jaime, ever as intuitive as her older sister, sensed something amiss with the brunette and promptly wrapped her arms around Santana's neck, squeezing tightly. Santana smiled affectionately and rubbed a hand down the length of the girl's back.

Maria nodded cautiously, not wanting to break the extremely fragile compromise. "Ok. Six o'clock then." She began backing up and was about to turn to leave when insecurity flared up inside of her, a burning flame that licked at the walls of her stomach. "I'll see you tomorrow?" It was a question peppered with qualm.

Santana jerked her head in a stiff nod then watched as her mother murmured a swift goodbye to Brooke before turning down the canned food aisle.

"Well that was fun," Brooke spoke up, trying to lighten the dark mood. She brushed off the teenage girls' incredulous stares and began nudging them into walking as she resumed the rolling of her full trolley. "Come on girls. It's time to go. I need to get started on dinner."

Santana followed behind Brittany's mother, one arm wrapped securely around Jaime. Her other hand was clasped firmly in Brittany's and as they made their way to the checkout counter, the Latina could not help but wonder just exactly what she had gotten her and Brittany into by accepting her mother's invitation to dinner tomorrow night. All she knew, as she set Jaime gently down and began helping Brooke unload the groceries onto the conveyor belt, was that tomorrow was going to going to be an unmitigated disaster that would most likely end in tears. The worse part? That Brittany had been unwittingly dragged into the mess that had become Santana's life.

As she listened with a half an ear to Brooke's gentle scolding upon her unearthing the hidden bag of gummy bears, she could not help but wish that she could spare Brittany from the heartache that would descend upon the pair come tomorrow night.

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"I can't do this." Santana tugged at the collar of her jacket and ran an agitated hand over her denim-clad thigh. She stared up at her mother's house with a disconcerting mixture of dread and terror. The house seemed overly imposing, looming over the pair like a towering judge, the windows glinting off the weakening rays of the setting sun. The effect made it seem as though the house were glaring at them, voicing its disapproval at the pair's close proximity to the other and their linked pinkies.

Brittany smoothed a hand down the back of Santana's head, coming to rest at the base of the Latina's neck. She massaged tense muscles through the curtain of thick black hair, her fingers pausing sporadically to play with the odd silky lock. "It'll be ok, San," Brittany comforted her quietly. She leaned over and brushed her lips against Santana's, her mouth fitting perfectly over the brunette's like two perfect pieces of a puzzle. "I love you," she said when she finally pulled back.

Santana interlaced their fingers, needing the skin contact with a desperation akin to a drug addict needing their next fix. "Brittany, I love you," she swore. Dark chocolate eyes, awash with worry swept up to meet a calming ocean blue gaze. "And it's because I love you that I don't want you going in there with me." Brown eyes turned pleading, hoping, _begging_ for the blonde to reconsider this act of lunacy and turn back to the car.

Brittany smiled, a soft, serene smile that bespoke of strength and courage. She took the first step, her action forcing Santana to move her feet in order to keep their hands linked. "Come on, San." The blonde tugged at tanned hand fused to her own. "I'm hungry."

Santana let loose a sound that was a cross between a sob and an amused chuckle. She allowed Brittany to lead her up to the front door and observed silently as the blonde casually pressed the bell. The Latina still had her keys but felt it inappropriate to use it when her mother was home. She sucked in a tense breath when the door swung open seconds later, revealing a casually dressed Maria, an apron tied around her waist and a spatula adorning her left hand. The woman was the picture of domesticity and it was a sight so unfamiliar that Santana could not help but stare.

"Hello girls," Maria greeted softly, her voice cordial but guarded. She suppressed the sliver of hurt that wedged itself between her ribs when she realized that her daughter had deliberately forgone the use of her key in favor of acting like this wasn't her home.

"Hi, Ms. Lopez," Brittany replied, offering the woman a hesitant smile. She squeezed Santana's hand, the gesture both a warning to act civil and a plea to try, when the brunette remained stubbornly silent to her mother's greeting. The blonde was rewarded when Santana conjured up a strangled "hello", her tongue wrapping awkwardly around the single word.

"Come in."

Maria stepped aside to let them in then closed the door behind them. Santana winced at the sound; the closing of the door sounded nothing more than a dramatic finality that they were inevitably in the lion's den. Now, there was no turning back. It was time to face the music.

"The pasta sauce is almost done. Help yourselves to a soda or juice."

It was a prompt to follow the older woman into the kitchen and Santana reluctantly shuffled forward, feeling like a complete stranger in a house that she had grown up in. The smell of beef Bolognese skimmed the airwaves to tantalize the girls' senses upon their arrival into the kitchen and Santana felt a melancholy pang as it dug the all too repressed memory of just how good a cook her mother actually was. Acting on auto-pilot and refusing to allow her mother the satisfaction that she was horribly uncomfortable with her current situation, Santana let go of Brittany's hand and made her way to the fridge. She yanked open the door and pulled out two cans of lemon soda before closing the door again. She made short work of moving back to Brittany, who had perched herself on a barstool and had taken to watching Maria cook. Santana set both cans down and popped open one, sliding it to Brittany before opening the other and swiftly taking a long swig, half wishing for it to be a can of beer instead.

"Can we help with anything?" Brittany's soft voice echoed out. She could see Santana twitching, subtle as it was and knew that the brunette needed to be in motion for her to work off her nervous energy.

"Could you set the table perhaps?" Maria asked. "You know where the cutlery is."

Maria's last line was not meant to be an accusation but it made Santana bristle and she was about to open her mouth to retort when Brittany lay a calming hand on her arm. Shutting her mouth with an audible click, Santana clenched her jaw in retaliation and moved to pull out the necessary plates and cutlery. She handed some to Brittany before carrying the rest out of the kitchen, glad to escape from the stifling tension that had permeated the house upon their arrival.

Brittany followed, eyes narrowing in concern at the brunette's stiff gait. She only hoped that dinner would help dispel the hostility that hung over Santana like a well-worn cape.

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Dinner was beyond awkward. Between the forced small talk, mostly between Maria and Brittany; Santana only spoke when directly addressed, and with the unresolved wall of tension that divided the girls from Maria, it was considered a blinding miracle that neither person in the dining room choked on the morsels of food that they forced down their throats.

Santana, not known for her patience, unless it came to a certain lanky blonde, pushed away her food, her pasta a congealing mess on the plate. The Latina barely made a dent in the meal, despite the fact that her taste buds all but wept with joy at being reintroduced to her mother's long absent homemade sauce. She straightened up in the chair and squared her shoulders, looking, for the first time that night, straight into her mother's eyes.

"Tell me what I'm doing here." It was not so much a request as it was a demand. Two pairs of similarly brown colored eyes locked onto each other, one set burning with defiance and the other wilting with guilt.

Maria mirrored her daughter's previous actions and pushed her plate away. She took a sip of her water, a last vestige of stalling before she launched herself into what was inevitable a painful yet necessary conversation.

"Rachel's dad paid me a visit," she began slowly. She watched as her daughter's brows furrowed in surprised at this admission. Clearly, Rachel had failed to inform Santana of this development. The older woman was unsure if she was pleased or disappointed by this revelation. She watched, just as quietly, as the surprised look gave way to one of anger.

"What did you say to him?" Santana's mind wandered back to a week or so ago when Rachel was unnervingly quiet at school for a good few days before bouncing back into her diva self. Now, she realized that the conversation Rachel's dad had with _her_ mother was probably the cause of the diminutive girl's abrupt mood shift. "I swear, if you said anything remotely close to derogatory–"

"He came to give me a piece of his mind," Maria interjected softly but firmly. She forced down her own bubbling anger, knowing just where Santana got her temper from. It wouldn't do for them to come to blows just when they were barely starting to talk things out.

"Yeah?" the brunette sneered. Her eyes gleamed with malicious glee. "Good. I hope he gave you hell."

"Santana." Brittany shot the shorter girl a warning glance and Santana ducked her head momentarily in apology for her outburst. The blonde sighed and reached over to link their hands, intending to give a quick squeeze of comfort but when she attempted to pull away, Santana tightened her grip, silently asking for her to stay.

Maria eyed the interaction of the girls' hands with mild discomfort; as much as she wanted to try to make amends and be ok with her daughter's relationship with Brittany, it was hard to chip away all those years of conditioning. Decades of prejudice had been ingrained into the older woman and dismissing them with a simple flick of her hand was easier said than done.

Santana was quick to catch the uneasy look on her mother's face, her hawk-like gaze rarely missing a thing. She grounded her teeth together. "You haven't changed your mind at all, have you?" Her voice was bitter, laced with rage. "You ask us to come over because you want to talk to us and I was delusional enough to believe that maybe, just _maybe_ you had gotten that stick out of your ass." Santana pushed her chair back roughly, its legs squeaking in protest against the wooden floor. "I'm not subjecting Brittany to anymore of your homophobic slurs." She began tugging at Brittany's arm, huffing in frustration when the blonde refused to stand. "We're leaving." This was addressed to both the blonde and her mother.

"San…"

Santana shook her head furiously. "No, Britt. I'm not going to do this with her." She continued pulling at the blonde's hand, her agitation growing when Brittany defied her by remaining glued to her seat. "Brittany, let's _go_," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'm trying to accept you," Maria admitted quietly.

Santana laughed; it was anything but happy. "No, you're not," she snapped. Her anger was skittering on the fine line of her self-control. "You're desperate. I can see it in your eyes. You just want to pretend that this–" She held up her and Brittany's interlinked hands. "–does not exist." Ferocious eyes, darkened to almost black, pinned themselves onto Maria with palpable force. "Well, I'm not about to let you sweep what B and I have under the rug. I'm _not_ going to let Brittany be some dirty little secret and I'm certainly done with trying to hide what we have."

Brittany's chest swelled with pride at Santana's choice of words. Despite the situation they were now in, she could not help but feel the warm wash of elation at Santana being so open about her emotions, about her and about them. If Brittany had any lingering shred of doubt about Santana's feelings, it was all wiped away by the Latina's vehement confession. She lifted their joint hands and pressed a kiss to the shorter girl's knuckles, lips brushing delicately over tanned skin.

Maria looked away at the open display of affection and it was fodder for Santana's continued tirade against her mother's intentions. "See! See, _that's_ what I mean!" A muscle jumped in the girl's jaw, twitching with livid fury. "You can't even witness a simple act of affection between us without looking away." She threw her mother a disgusted glance. "You're pathetic."

"Santana, you have no idea how hard this is for me!"

Maria had taken to standing, her own chair scraping harshly against the floor as she stood abruptly. She wrung her hands, her face contorted with pain and the struggle to explain herself. "Do you want me to say that looking at you and Brittany acting as a couple makes me uncomfortable? Fine! Yes, it does! It's what's been drilled into me, Santana and you can't just expect me to magically undo all those years of being told that homosexuality is wrong!" She gripped the table's edge so hard that her knuckles paled drastically, the color change a strict contrast to her naturally tan skin. "But, I'm trying, goddamn it. I'm _trying_. I _want_ to make things right between us. I _want_ to accept your relationship with Brittany. But you have to stop pushing so damn hard!"

"Why does it have to be me that compromises?" Santana yelled back. She shook Brittany's grip loose, fearing that in her emotional state, she would end up crushing the blonde's fingers. "All my life," she spat out. "All my _fuckin_' life, you've never been there for me. Always trading me off to Tomas or leaving me to deal with my own problems. You're _never_ there. Never." Tears welled in her eyes and she tried hard to blink them away, hating her tear ducts for betraying her. "You only want to **pretend** to accept my being gay so that you can stop feeling guilty for being such a shit parent!"

"I'm scared for you, damnit!" Maria shouted. She rounded the table and stood before her daughter, only a mere chair separating them. Again, Santana moved instinctively in front of Brittany, ready to defend and protect. Maria ignored the move, too high on her panic, dread and guilt to even feel remotely hurt by it. Needing a physical outlet, she gripped the top of the chair, a bone crushing hold that made her fingers ache. "Why can't you see things from my point of view? Every day, every single day, there's talks about gay bashing, about hate crimes, how people _die_ for being gay." Maria's eyes glistened with tears. "I don't want that for you!"

"I don't care!" Santana all but screamed. "I don't care about the bigots, about the stupid assholes who want to push their beliefs onto me. I. Don't. Care." She took a measured step forward but was held back by Brittany's strong hold on her elbows. Santana settled for glaring vituperatively at her mother. "The world can go to hell, mama. They can talk shit about me all they want but as long as I have Brittany, I **don't **care." Those three words were encased in Adamantium, unbreakable and unyielding. There was a furious kind of conviction in Santana's voice that left no room for argument just where Santana stood on the issue.

Maria sagged against the chair, all the fight leaving her body in one fell blow. She leaned against the chair for desperate support and the chair tittered slightly under the unexpected weight. "You may not care, Santana," she said, tears thick in her voice. "You may not care but I have to. Do you know just how much it pains me to know that you are going to go out into a world that is going to sneer at your very existence just because you're with a girl?" She sniffled and blotted a hand over her now streaming eyes. "Forget about my beliefs for a moment. This–" she pointed between her daughter and herself. "–is about me not wanting you to go through life with a target on your back."

"And you're doing the exact same thing by not accepting us," Santana replied just as quietly. She fell back into the soft but firm body that was Brittany, needing to feel the blonde's presence. "The paintbrush is in your hands; you've effectively painted that target on my back with your close-mindedness and your inability to just accept me for who I am."

Silence was a potent toxin in the room; seeping into each individual's pores and dulling their senses until each one could hear nothing but the roaring off blood rushing in their ears. After what seemed like hours, Maria made a split second decision; something needed to give and she knew deep down that it had to be her. She walked toward her daughter, every step causing a piece of her soul to splinter off and embedded the shredded remains into the battered muscle that was her beating heart. She turned a blind eye to the way Santana flinched at her arrival and reached up to cup her daughter's face in her hands.

"If you're happy," she rasped out, voice hoarse with defeat and the emotional gauntlet she had just walked though. "If you're happy with Brittany, I give you my blessing." Her voice was a strangled inflection marred with pain and hopelessness. Maria had come to the inexorable realization that she needed to pick a side; her daughter's or her fears and prejudices. She hated both; neither brought happiness nor a peace of mind but if she remained conflicted, remained uncertain, she knew she would lose Santana. Her daughter was already slipping from her grasp and this, _this_ was her last lifebuoy to reclaim the connection with her daughter. She looked her daughter straight in the eye, no frills, no pretences. "Be happy," she choked out.

Then she left the room.

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Brittany led a shell-shocked Santana back home. She waved off her hovering parents and ushered Santana into their room, her distress spiking several notches as Santana allowed herself to be carted around like a limp rag doll. She let Brittany undress her, her entire body lifeless and muscles loose. When Brittany redressed her with an oversized t-shirt and tucked her into bed, all Santana did was curl up into a fetal position under the duvet, her eyes blank and distant.

Brittany quickly changed into her sleepwear and paused only to turn on the radio before folding herself into the bed behind Santana. She wrapped strong arms around the brunette, her presence an unwavering pillar of support.

Behind them, a song began crooning out of the stereo speakers.

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Maria sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine. The radio was on, whispering a soft tune that bespoke of a quiet intensity, backed by a chorus of hushed harmonies. When the singer began to sing, his voice was painted with grief, drenched in sorrow and weeping pain.

_Cry baby, cry_

A tear slipped down a slightly flushed cheek.

_Cry, cry to heaven_

More tears followed, each meandering down the salty path paved by its predecessor.

_Say a prayer and light a candle_

Lips moved silently as Maria churned out one prayer after another, as she had been ever since her daughter and Brittany left. It was her last outlet of comfort though the older woman found it both soothing and counterproductive for it reminded her just how hard and soul-shattering her decision earlier this evening had been.

_Toll a bell_

As if on cue, her watch beeped, signaling the start of a new hour. Maria glanced down at her watch through a blurry vision obscured by tears; nine o'clock. Too early for bed. The woman poured herself another glass and leaned back against the couch, ears straining as it fought to pick up the low strains of an oddly appropriate song.

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_Cry, baby, cry_

Brittany's head cocked as the song finally processed through her hearing up to her brain. She glanced down at Santana, who despite looking so utterly sad, had failed to cry. She bent until her lips brushed the shell of the girl's ear. "It's ok to cry, Santana," she whispered lovingly. "I won't let you fall."

_Cry, cry to heaven_

The song added its plea to Brittany's and Santana felt something inside of her break. She pushed back into Brittany even as a lone tear squeeze out from the confines of her eye. Brittany responded by tugging the smaller girl tightly to her front until not even a sheet of paper could come between them.

_If that doesn't do it for you_

_Go ahead and cry like hell_

More tears leaked out, dripping down the end of Santana's nose and wetting the pillow beneath her head. Through it all, Brittany simply held her, her own tears falling like gentle rain onto Santana's hair. The swell of instruments pouring out from the stereo added to the somber mood that had cloaked the pair; the harmonies of the music was both uplifting and heartbreaking and Santana and Brittany allowed it to heal their souls.

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_Cry, baby, cry_

Maria had the afghan pulled over her lap. A bottle lay empty on the coffee table and the room was dark save for the street light that poured in through the window. Tears streaked her face.

_Cry, cry to heaven_

Tears flowed unashamedly down her face, her emotions needing a physical release lest it stay bottled up inside. With each tear, Maria could feel the pressure on her chest lightening and her soul stitching back together.

_Storm the castle, stem the tide_

_Rise above yourself_

The words were like an ice-cold Slushie tossed into her face and she was left gasping at the implication of those lyrics. Rise above yourself. Hadn't she proved that? Hadn't she clawed her way through her fears to give her daughter the happiness she wanted? Was it not enough?

Maria knew it wasn't. She stumbled to her feet, a new kind of resolve settling in her chest. She needed to tell Santana that she loved her. That she _accepted_ her.

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_Cry, baby, cry_

_Cry, cry to heaven_

Santana was sobbing violently, her entire body rupturing with spasms and the force of her tears. Brittany cried alongside her, cried _for_ her. The pain radiating off the brunette was near unbearable and it scorched Brittany's soul.

_If that doesn't do it for you_

_Go ahead and cry like_

_Go ahead and cry like_

_Go ahead_

The music was at its crescendo, the instruments, the background vocals and the singer blending together in a terrible sonata of acceptance, sorrow and agony.

_And cry like hell_

Cry was what Santana did. It had been a long time coming; every pent up fear, every rejection from her mother; every insecurity and doubt came barreling out from behind her tightly knit shields. In Brittany's arms she let herself go.

The door to the room opened and there was a rustle of clothing. A figure knelt by the side of the bed and dropped a hand on Santana's head.

"I love you, Santana." Maria's voice cut across the room, causing Santana's eyes to snap toward her. Brittany remained motionless. Maria's heart tore at the tear stained face of her daughter. "_All_ of you."

A ragged sob threatened to damage Santana's throat. "Why?" she rasped. Her voice quivered with pain though her skepticism still somehow managed to shine through. "Why now?"

Maria fumbled amongst the sheets until she found her daughter's hand. Gripping it tightly, she held steadfastly onto it. "Because," she whispered. Her face mirrored that of her daughter's; wet with tears and taut with anguish. "Because you're my daughter."

Santana tightened the grip, breath caught in her throat. Hope flared inside of her and she stamped it down, knowing that it would only burn her. Behind her, Brittany's arms were near suffocating around her chest, the blonde's body fine-tuned with tension as she listened to mother and daughter converse.

Maria drew in a shuddering breath. Even through the film of tears clouding her vision, she read the mistrust in Santana's eyes. The broken look glinting off Santana's gaze was unbearable and whether it was the alcohol she consumed or the song she heard or simply spending the last few hours in deep prayer, Maria didn't know. What she did know was that Santana needed to hear her say it. Say it and _mean_ it.

"I _accept_ you."

Time grounded to a halt and for many an excruciating second, nobody said a single word.

Maria was rooted to the ground on her knees, waiting for her daughter to react.

Brittany hardly dared to breathe; her arms that were around Santana were so tight that she was half afraid of the brunette's ribs caving in under the pressure of her hold.

As for Santana? She looked at her mother, found nothing but truth in her eyes. There was the discomfort, there was the uncertainty and there was still that fleck of reservation but the _truth_ was there. She felt Brittany behind her, holding her, anchoring her. Something inside of the girl snapped and three words was all it took for Santana to careen into a unadulterated mess into the circle of her mother's shaking arms.

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**A/N 2 –** Song used is "Cry To Heaven" by Meat Loaf. I **love** Meat Loaf. Every song is epic.


	22. Love

**A/N – **Apologies for the late update. I try my darnest to upload a new chapter twice a week but sometimes life gets in the way. It just happened to be another one of those "hectic work" weeks. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter 22 – Love**

Poetry in motion.

That was how Santana described Brittany when she danced. The brunette had returned from her errand only to find the blonde sequestered in the basement turned makeshift dance studio, dancing to a tune that only she could hear.

Dressed in a simple pair of black drawstring pants and a form-fitting white tank top, Brittany moved across the room with an elegance and grace that could only be the product of years of dancing. Her bare feet flitted across the wooden floorboards, each step as smooth and flowing as water. When she spun, her body twisted flawlessly, untied blonde hair flaying out in a gravity-defying halo before coming back to rest softly against her shoulders. The blonde's eyes were half-closed, her face reflecting that of sheer bliss and it was obvious to Santana that the blonde was completely unaware of being watched.

Feeling like a voyeur, yet unable to tear her eyes away, Santana leaned against the border of one of the wall-mounted mirrors and folded her arms. Sunlight stabbed through the one large windowpane located at the end of the basement, cutting across dust motes that clung to the air and shadows that elongated from the darker corners of the room. The beams hit the two wall-mounted mirrors, which immediately threw them back, effectively giving the basement more light.

The light lending the basement an ethereal aura was not what Santana cared about. No, she was more consumed with the way the light tried to keep up with Brittany as the blonde jumped, twisted and twirled her way around the room, always managing to avoid any walls and obstacles even with her eyes heavily lidded. Santana observed the way the sunlight ignited the blonde's figure, stenciling out rippling muscles that ebbed and flowed with each perfectly executed move. When Brittany threw her hands above her head and bent backward, her tank top rode up, exposing washboard abs that made Santana's mouth run dry.

The blonde, oblivious to anything outside of her dancing, was therefore utterly unaware of the effect she was having on a certain brunette. Instead, Brittany just allowed herself to drown in the rhythm that was pounding in her ears. Music from a boom box was all well and good but when she danced to a beat inside her head, it made her feel freer, more creative. Dancing always came easily to the blonde and it was something she excelled at. Learning the choreography, the steps only fueled the girl's passion and when the entire routine came together, it was like seeing all the pieces of a puzzle. Dancing had always been Brittany's outlet for escape; so much so that when she danced, her brain simply disconnected itself from reality, allowing muscle memory to take over to transform her body into a flowing work of art.

The blonde finished by pivoting her body into the arabesque position and she remained locked in this manner for scant seconds before pulling herself upright, a satisfied smile perched on her lips. Still high from her workout, she failed to notice a lightly flushed Santana standing off by the corner of the stairs as she made her way over to the ballerina bar and began her cooling down stretches. It was only when she was done and turned to pick up her water bottle that she found the brunette watching her with an intensity that sent all the blood in her brain rushing southwards.

Swallowing hard, she stalled by picking up her forgotten water bottle and taking a much needed pull from it, the crisp water rushing through her overheated body. She watched with hooded eyes as Santana finally seemed to snap out of her Brittany induced stupor, only to prowl over the blonde. Before Brittany could get in a word edgewise, Santana had her up against the wall, fusing their lips together. The water bottle dropped from the blonde's hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud as Brittany's fingers fisted themselves to the front of Santana's shirt. She pulled the smaller girl flush against her body, her mouth opening to accommodate a demanding tongue that promptly darted out to find its mate.

Santana all but moaned when Brittany's tongue came to tangle with her own. The taste of strawberries, sweat and something that was distinctly "Brittany" all served to send her senses into a tailspin. She pressed her front to Brittany's, one leg slipping in between the blonde's in a most natural move. Her hands found purchase in the taller girl's hair, one hand gripping handful of silky blonde locks and the other snaking around to cup the back of Brittany's head. Her lips slipped and slid over and under Brittany's lips, teeth intermittently grazing the rapidly bruising skin before a hot wet tongue swiped over the temporary pain.

Brittany groaned into Santana's mouth when she felt the Latina's thigh press upward into her center and reacted by bearing down on it, hoping to relieve the pressure that was building up between her thighs. Her eyes slipped shut when Santana disconnected their mouths only to trail a path of blazing kisses and nips down the length of her neck. Her knees threatened to buckle when Santana sucked hard at her pulse point, her teeth biting gently down onto over sensitized skin. Goosebumps broke out all over her arms at the feel of Santana marking her claim and just as she was about to bunch the Latina's shirt up in her hands, Santana pulled away.

"Wh-why'd you stop?" Brittany was a little startled to hear the raw quality that had become her voice. It was so low and husky from their passionate encounter that it sounded more like guttural growl than anything else. She started down at Santana who was bent over slightly, her palms resting on her knees and her chest heaving madly at her recent exertions. When she finally looked up, Brittany took one look at the lush, wet lips that were swollen from kissing and promptly lunged forward, grasping the smaller girl by the shoulders and spinning them both around so that Santana was the one backed up against the wall.

Brittany wasted no time in recapturing the Latina's lips, drawing out from it a raspy groan that raked all the way down to tease the heat that was rapidly stoking out of control between her legs. Her hands wormed under Santana's shirt, nails scraping over a toned stomach that quivered under her touch. Brittany took the brunette's lower lip between her teeth and tugged teasingly, sinking her teeth down just hard enough to leave a neat line of teeth indentations. The action made Santana gasp in a combination of mind exploding pleasure and nerve sizzling pain and she fought hard to remain upright as Brittany then suckled her bottom lip into her mouth.

"W-wait." Somewhere in the back of Santana's mind, a voice was screaming blue bloody murder for her to stop talking. However, when one of her arms dropped down to begin crawling to undo the knot in front of Brittany's pants, her fingers brushed over her jeans' pocket, reminding her of the reason she came down to the basement in the first place. "Wait, B," she choked out. She gently but insistently pushed at Brittany's shoulders, hoping to create a meager amount of space between them.

Brittany immediately jumped back, concern etched across her face. "What's the matter?" she asked worriedly. Santana never deviated from their make out sessions.

"Nothing's the matter," Santana husked out, her voice sounding like she had downed one too many whisky and cokes. She inhaled a deep shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure. "Just…just hold your horses for a minute."

"But I don't have any," came the confused reply. Brittany scrunched up her nose as she scrutinized Santana. "San, did you hit your head?" Worry blotted Prussian blues that were still simmering with arousal.

Santana offered the blonde a soft indulgent smile at the blonde's misinterpretation of her words. She wordlessly held out a hand to Brittany who took it willingly, lifting it to press a small kiss on the Latina's knuckles, eliciting a blush. "Let's slow down, ok?" Santana reworded her request. Using their linked hands, she pulled Brittany toward her in a hug that was more comforting then passionate. Indulging in a moment of closeness, Santana leaned her head against the blonde's newly healed collarbone and sighed contently.

Brittany, still a little dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, simply held Santana close, running supple fingers through the smaller girl's thick dark hair. When she heard the brunette mumbled something into her shoulder, she pulled back a little to peer down at the girl. "What?"

"Come take a walk with me," Santana repeated. She toed the floor with the front of her shoe, looking somewhat bashful.

"A walk?" There was a note of skepticism in the blonde's voice.

Santana blushed profusely, her cheeks tingeing crimson. She bit her lip in a manner that Brittany found absolutely adorable and nodded in confirmation.

"Ok…" Befuddled by Santana's abrupt change in behavior, Brittany leaned down to lightly peck the smaller girl's lips. "Let me go shower and I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes ok?"

Santana smiled and reached up a hand to caress Brittany's flushed cheek. "I love you," she whispered tenderly.

Brittany melted at the sincerity of the words. She stole another kiss, whispering the exact words onto Santana's lips. Then she straightened and made her way up the stairs, leaving Santana to fiddle with an item in her pocket.

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"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to see the ducks?" Brittany chirped out excitedly as they strolled over to the duck pond ensconced in Lima's only park. She let go of Santana's hand and bounced over to the edge of the pond, squatting down to coo at the raft of ducks that were congregating by a fence of grass that poked out from water. "Ooh, look, San!" Brittany's energetic voice startled the few ducks closest to her and they flapped their wings in mild panic, squawking in surprise before regaining their composure.

"What is it, _guapa_?" Santana ambled her way to her Brittany's side and bent down beside her, her eyes following the direction of Brittany's pointed finger.

"Babies!" Brittany giggled. She sighed happily and dipped a finger into the water, hoping that one would swim up close enough for her to pet it.

"Careful, B," Santana warned, gently pulling the blonde's hand back, earning herself a pout from the taller girl. "Don't give me those sad puppy dog eyes. Remember what happened the last time? One of the duck's pecked you!"

Brittany shrugged. "He probably thought my finger was a worm."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so let's leave your fingers out of the water, ok?"

Brittany jutted out her bottom lip. "Saaaaan…"

Santana shut the blonde's protest with a soft kiss. "Come on, we're not really here to see the ducks," she whispered against Brittany's lips. She reared back and reached out to brush away a lock of hair that the wind had swept over Brittany's cheek.

"We're not?" Brittany shrugged again then turned her attention back to the animals that were contently munching on the tufts of greenery protruding out from the bottom of the pond. "Can I name the babies first?"

Santana canted her head sideways, her brows furrowed in confusion. "You want to name the baby ducks?" At Brittany's nod, she asked, "Why?"

"So I know what to call them, silly," came the patient reply.

Santana gnawed at her bottom lip, adoration and exasperation battling across the planes of her face. Finally, she shrugged. "Sure, why not?" She scooted until she was slightly behind Brittany and propped her chin on the blonde girl's shoulder. "What are you going to name them?" she breathed into a nearby ear that immediately went pink from Santana's breath caressing it.

"Butter and Toast," Brittany answered swiftly.

Santana felt her jaw sag. "Excuse me?" She squinted down at the baby ducklings, hoping to acquire a clue that would somehow provide the key to the answer for Brittany's weird and completely obscure choice of names.

The dancer sighed in mild frustration and reached around to grasp one of the Latina's hands. Lacing their fingers together, she used both their hands to point to one duckling that was brownish-yellow in color. "Toast," she affirmed. "Like how bread comes all golden brown and sometimes a little burnt here and there?" When she felt Santana nod wordlessly behind her, she maneuvered their hands to point at the second duckling. "Butter," she stated. "Cuz the ducky is yellow, just like butter." She turned around to face a wondrous looking Santana. "Butter and toast go together like those two duckies," Brittany finished her explanation with a goofy smile.

Santana laughed, a carefree sound that tickled Brittany's ears. She leaned over to brush a loving kiss across Brittany's lips. "I love the way your mind works," she confessed. She stood up, tugging Brittany along with her. "Come on," she said. "I've a surprise for you."

Santana led Brittany to a secluded clearing set at the back of the park. It was partially veiled by a clump of trees, giving the area a sense of intimacy and privacy. Situated in the middle was a large picnic basket sitting on top of a crisscross patterned blanket.

Brittany stared at Santana, surprise evident in her eyes. "How…"

Santana quirked her lips. "I called in a favor." She guided the blonde over to the blanket and urged her to sit. Propping herself next to the basket, Santana then proceeded to pull out various food items, growing more and more impressed as a variety of finger foods and fruit appeared. She made a mental note to thank Rachel and Quinn when she drew out a bottle of sparkling grape juice along with two champagne flutes. Acting quickly, she popped the bottle and poured a generous amount into the first flute, handing it over to Brittany who had remained suspiciously quiet. Filling her own glass, she then set the bottle back into the basket and turned to the blonde.

"To us," she uttered softly, clinking her glass to the taller girl's.

"To us," Brittany repeated solemnly. She copied Santana, taking a tentative sip, relishing the taste of the slightly tart drink. She eyed the Latina who was absent-mindedly patting her jeans pocket and notice that for the first time, there was a slight bulge. "Hey, San?"

"Mmm?" Santana, unaware of her nervous tick swiveled coffee-brown eyes onto cobalt blue.

"Not that I'm complaining," Brittany began. "But what's all this for?"

Santana smiled, a soft smile that was equal parts shy and skittish. "I just want a day out with you," she evaded. She set down her glass and pushed a plate of cheese and crackers toward the blonde. "Have some food."

Brittany acquiesced and picked up a cracker loaded with a small block of Brie. She took a bite, humming at the taste. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Santana sliding her hand in and out of the pocket with the odd bump. Brittany had known Santana long enough to know that the girl was deep in contemplation, waging an internal battle in her head. And knowing Santana like Brittany did; it was best to let the girl sort out her musings without interruption.

The pair ate in silence, trading tidbits of food and drink. When Santana did finally speak up, her alto voice cut across the quiet of the clearing cause Brittany to jump a little, startled.

"Brittany?"

The blonde looked up expectantly. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

Brittany felt her heart flutter inside her chest at those words. "I love you too, San. You know that."

Santana fidgeted. She looked at Brittany who was watching her with slight confusion and worry in her eyes. Knowing that if she waited too long, she would lose her nerve, she propped herself up on one knee and almost chuckled when Brittany's eyes widened comically. The brunette dug a hand into her jeans' pocket, fishing out a small black velvet box, which she then balanced in the middle of her palm. She took a deep breath and looked up into deep blue eyes that were beginning to tear.

"Brittany, I feel like I've known you forever," Santana spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I honestly can't remember a time before I met you; my life was just shades of grey until you came and put in all the colors of the rainbow." Santana smiled and reached up to thumb away a tear that had lazily meandered down Brittany's cheek. "I know it took a lot for us to get where we are now, mostly because of me." Santana's head bent slightly in shame and guilt before locking her eyes back onto Brittany's. "But I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to put a smile on your face and a bounce in your step."

Hand trembling, she opened the lid of the box revealing a silver band that had the shape of two ducks at the front. Touching either beak was two jewels that were nestled together. One was black, the other white. They were cut in half, then put together to give the illusion that it was one piece.

Santana smiled a shaky smile. "We're too young to get married, Brittany but I _know_ that one day, I'll be waiting for you down that aisle. So until then, this is a promise ring." She extracted the ring from the box then set it down on the blanket. She took Brittany's right hand and positioned the ring at the tip of Brittany's fourth finger. "This is my promise that I won't hide you or us or run from it ever again. I promise to always be there for you, to hold you when you cry, to smile when you laugh. I promise that when you go to sleep at night, the last thing you'll hear is me saying "I love you." When you wake up in the morning, I promise that the first thing you'll see is me smiling at you." Well aware that her face was wet with tears and that Brittany was trembling from head to foot, she had to draw in greedy gulps of air to rein in her emotions.

"Brittany I am so yours. Proudly so." She deliberately used the words coined by the blonde that fateful day, knowing just what kind of impact it would have on Brittany. Turning the ring just slightly, she revealed the inside of the ring. Stenciled inside it were the words "Proudly So."

Suppressing a sob, Brittany launched herself into Santana's arms, almost causing the smaller girl to drop the ring. She managed to form a fist around it even as she caught an armful of softly crying blonde. Hugging the girl close to her, she allowed Brittany to lie on top of her until the blonde stopped sniffling and pulled them back upright into a sitting position. Santana grinned and opened up her hand, revealing the ring again.

"Will you wear it?"

Brittany, her face shiny with the remnants of tears that she had shed, nodded enthusiastically. Never in her wildest dreams, could she have seen this coming. She knew that Santana had come to terms with her sexuality and their relationship but this? Talks of commitment and future marriage? To say that Brittany was blindsided would have been a severe understatement.

Santana slipped the ring onto Brittany's right hand ring finger then placed a small kiss on top of it. She rocked back on her heels as she watched Brittany observe the ring, running an admiring finger over the custom made design. When Santana first thought about promise rings, her initial reaction was to scoff and declare it an outdated, old-fashioned idea. However, her _mother_ of all people, after finding Santana pouring over a ring magazine, had explained to her that a promise ring was simply a sign of wanting to make a commitment, of letting the other person know that they wanted to be with them. Of course, the explanation came after her mother suffered a major case of panic at seeing her daughter browse through a magazine pertaining to any rings in the commitment category. It was clear to Santana that her mother was still uncomfortable with the relationship but she was trying and offering bias free advice was a step toward the right direction.

"It's so beautiful, San," Brittany whispered in awe. She stared at the ring, hardly believing that it was real.

"I got it custom made a few weeks ago," Santana replied quietly. She traced a finger over the design. "I wanted to get you something that was different. Unique."

"I love it," Brittany breathed out. Her eyes refused to leave the band that was gently twinkling up at her, courtesy of the sun.

Santana smiled, glad that she was finally being able to do things right. She watched the way the sun filtered through Brittany's shimmering blonde hair, the look of pure joy on her face and the way her eyes sat riveted on the ring on her finger. Blue eyes that sparkled with elation and love.

"Can I get you a ring too, San?" Brittany asked suddenly. Her tone was cautious for she did not want to scare or offend the brunette. She tried to keep eye contact with Santana but her gaze kept sweeping back to the ring adorning her finger. The ducks were a nice touch; it was simply so Brittany. The dark and light jewels were a physical reflection of Santana and Brittany themselves; two halves of the same whole.

Santana caught the slight grimace and hesitancy that flashed across Brittany's face. Grinning, she nodded, almost too eagerly. "I was kinda hoping you would say that," she admitted, blushing profusely. She would never admit it out loud, but she wanted something that would tell the whole world that she belonged to the beautiful blonde sitting across from her.

Brittany squealed and threw herself into Santana's arms, kissing every inch of exposed skin. Santana laughed and returned the gesture, her heart so full of love for the blonde that she was sure it would explode. Yes, they were young, but there was no doubt in Santana's mind that they were simply meant to be. She wasn't naive, she knew there would be obstacles ahead, hurdles to jump over but for the first time in a long Santana did not see them as barriers. No, they were simply challenges, tasks to do in order to get to the next stop.

With Brittany by her side, there was nothing she couldn't accomplish. _That_ was love. A powerful, unstoppable force that paved the way and shone the light.

"I love you, Brittany. For the rest of my life, I promise."

Brittany looked down at Santana, finding sparkling dark chocolate eyes gazing up at her with unadulterated sincerity and love. She smiled, a sweet smile that was full of contentment and sheer happiness.

"I love you too, Santana. Forever, I promise."

xxxxxxxxxx

**A/N 2** **–** I technically could end it here, seeing as everything is pretty much resolved but I found a song that would fit perfectly for a proper ending so I'll be adding one final chapter sometime at the end of this week. Hope you guys enjoyed the story. It's been a wicked ride. Thank you all for reading, supporting and taking the time to leave a review. I truly appreciate it.

Oh yeah, I got the ring idea from Claddagh rings. Instead of two hands holding a heart, think of two ducks with their beaks touching either jewel.

AND the ducks' names are actually names my mother came up with for a pair of stray ducklings that wandered up to our front porch. No joke; if Glee had been on when my mother found them I would have totally told her that she pulled a "Brittany" cuz seriously? Butter and Toast? When she texted me the names, I just stared blankly at my phone, completely confused. Lol.

**Spanish word** – _guapa_ (beautiful)


	23. Let The Whole World Know

**A/N – **It's the final chapter, y'all! Thank you all for taking this journey with me, I truly appreciate all your dedication and support through story alerts and reviews. Your words mean so much to me and I want to thank you again for taking the time to leave me your thoughts. I hope this last chapter serves you well. Happy reading!

**Chapter 23- Let The Whole World Know**

"Mr. Schue, I have something I want to sing."

The man in question looked up from his notepad, brows furrowed in surprised confusion. His eyes swiveled over to Santana, who was patiently waiting for his verbal verdict. "Uh, sure, Santana." He mentally cringed as the inflection in his voice gave away his surprise. "Go ahead." He observed the Latina curiously; whilst Santana was never one to back down from a solo or an assignment, she was never forthcoming about volunteering to sing either. This, was definitely a change, albeit a good one.

All eyes in the choir room followed Santana's movements as the brunette made her way over to the band and began whispering to them. One particular pair of cobalt blue eyes twinkled with curiosity and unadulterated happiness; Brittany knew the song Santana was about to song was going to be a dedication to her. The brunette had told her that much the day before. However, when the lanky blonde asked what song she was going to sing, Santana remained tight-lipped, saying that Brittany would find out in Glee Club tomorrow. Now, she watched as Santana conferred with the guitarist before trekking over to where Brad, the pianist was sitting vigilantly behind the piano. A few words were exchanged and Brad finally nodded, a small smile playing about his lips.

Quinn and Rachel exchanged slightly apprehensive looks, the pair being all too familiar with Brittany and Santana's singing confessions. Resigned wariness clouded over hazel and chocolate eyes respectively, as they watched Santana converse with the band and Brad.

Santana made her way over to the middle of the choir room, her hands shaking slightly. The song she picked was unconventional for her; it wasn't just the genre, it was the song's message. Never in a million years would the brunette have thought that she would be comfortable enough to sing a song that held so much personal meaning, to her and to Brittany. The brunette only hoped that she could do it justice.

"I'm dedicating this song to Brittany." A soft smile danced across Santana's lips as liquid brown eyes found and locked onto a pair of sapphire blue. In the back of her mind, she could hear that imaginary "click" that seemed to echo in her ears whenever she and Brittany's eyes grazed upon each other. Like they were always meant to be. "Britt-Britt, these past few months was a roller-coaster of ups and downs. I hurt you. You hurt me. We hurt each other and other people." Her eyes briefly disconnected from the blonde's to track over to where Artie was stationed. She conveyed an apology to the wheelchair bound boy with a subtle nod. It was acknowledged by Artie who offered the brunette a tight smile. Whilst there was no animosity in the boy's bespectacled eyes, there was no pleasantness either. It was more than Santana could hope for.

"I know that we put each other and everyone else through our brand of crazy because I was too afraid to acknowledge what we have, what you are to me." A bittersweet smile graced Santana's lips as her eyes flitted back over to the blonde. "So, this song, and that ring–" she paused and lifted a chin to encourage Brittany to show the Gleeks the promise ring that Santana had given her the weekend before. Grinning, the blonde fished the customized ring from her pocket and slipped it onto her right hand ring finger before thrusting her hand out in front of her, the overhead lights making the jewels wink. The pair had timed its reveal, wanting the club to be the first ones to bear witness to Santana's commitment in the guise of a physical object. Judging by the symphony of "awws", gasps and Rachel's none too quiet squeal of astonishment, the reveal was well received. "–is to show you and everybody that I'm not afraid anymore." Santana blushed crimson as another round of "awws" assaulted her ears. Wanting to maintain her composure, she turned to the band. "Hit it."

Soft instrumentals began, filtering through the room in a quiet melody. The rhythmic tapping of cymbals from the drum kit provided a backing base to the gently plucking guitar strings and subtle wailing of a fiddle. Accompanying it, was the distinctive sounds of the pedal steel guitar, lending the song its distinctively country feel.

As Santana mentally counted down to when she would have to add her voice to the music, her eyes sought for a Prussian pair that would forever be a brand onto her soul. Brittany was smiling down at her, a serene smile born out of love, the kind of love that people _yearn_ for but few manage to touch upon. Santana managed to mouth the words "I love you" to Brittany and to have the blonde reciprocate just in time for Santana to begin to sing.

_I was meant to be by your side_

_And I have waited here a long time_

_For you to turn around and notice me_

The opening lyrics held multiple meanings; for Brittany it was about how she waited year after year for Santana, growing more despondent and disappointed when the brunette evaded the true nature of their relationship in lieu of rejection and fear. For Santana, the lyrics were about how she knew she belonged with the blonde but too scared of what everyone else would think of her, she threw away the one good thing in her life. Realizing what she lost, it was the classic case of "too little, too late" and she had to watch painfully by as Brittany got on with her life with Artie.

_But now you're here, holding hands with me_

Santana walked over to where the blonde sat, in the front row and wordlessly held out her hand. Brittany took it, eyes glistening with tears. Santana brushed a kiss to the blonde's knuckles and sang the chorus directly to her.

_Walk me down the middle of the county fair_

_Walk me down the middle like you don't care_

_Walk me by the Ferris wheel_

_And make sure they all see_

When Santana first stumbled across this song on the radio, it played and replayed in her head like a broken record. It simply _fit_ Brittany and her. She could related to every lyric, every word, as though it was cultivated and penned, for her and Brittany alone.

_Let the whole world know, you belong to me_

Brittany smiled through tears that Santana was diligently catching with her thumb. As another quick instrumental interlude rang through the room, the Latina bent and placed a chaste kiss on the blonde's lips before moving back to the middle of the room. She turned and addressed her fellow students.

_You have heard about our bitter end_

_About how I broke her heart_

Gossip flew like oxygen in McKinley and it came as to nobody's shock or surprise when they heard about Santana and Brittany's demise. However, unlike the rest of the school, the Glee Club didn't use the news as fodder; instead they offered their silent support to whoever needed it the most. When Santana fell to pieces, the remainders of her heart rendered to broken fragments on the floor, Rachel helped her glue it back together. When Brittany needed a shoulder to cry on, Quinn was there with open arms and kind words. They all knew that Santana broke Brittany's heart. But Brittany broke Santana's in return; it was a vicious cycle that New Directions was glad to see that it had finally run its course. Santana singing this song, proved it.

_But I put it back again_

Brown eyes darted back to Brittany who nodded, signaling that yes, her heart was mended. Only Santana knew how to piece back the puzzle that was Brittany's heart for she was the only one who knew how to properly break it.

_Well, I may not be the prettiest girl around_

Brittany rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the lyric and mouthed "you're beautiful to me," to Santana who blushed furiously.

_But you sure are a sight, for sore, sore eyes_

It was Brittany's turn to blush, her cheeks heating up most unfavorably as blood rushed under her skin, tingeing her pale cheeks red. She ducked her head, shyness radiating off her with that bashful posture but looked up just in time to see Santana throw her a crooked grin.

_Walk me down the middle of Main Street_

_Walk me down where the whole town will be_

Santana sang with more conviction that she had ever known. She wanted Brittany, the club, Mr. Schue, the _band_ to know that Brittany was hers and she was Brittany's. The song's lyrics about the singer wanting their partner to walk them down a public street for the whole town to see was about as fitting for Santana's bold declaration as it was going to get.

_I don't need no parade_

_But make sure they all see_

Brittany leaned forward in her chair, tears meandering lazily down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away for they were happy tears. Her eyes zeroed in on Santana's coffee brown ones and all she found was love and truth. Love for her and truth about the words she was singing. It left not a shred of doubt that Santana was proud to be with Brittany. Proudly so. The blonde touched the ring, glancing down momentarily at it with a fond smile. She felt the engraved words like a hot brand on her skin and the warmth that flooded through her body was almost as good as being in Santana's arms. She looked up just as Santana sang:

_Let the whole world know_

Two pairs of eyes, one a dark intense brown and the other a stunningly bright cornflower blue, connected with its mate.

_I belong to you_

Santana and Brittany felt that lyric like a physical caress; it wrapped each syllable around them, coating their souls and coaxing their hearts into a slight jig from the confines of their chests. The pair exchanged small smiles as the third instrumental interlude began, Santana backing up the various instruments with soft harmonies. She could feel a slight wetness on her cheeks and concluded that she was also crying, her face most likely mirroring that of Brittany's. Like the blonde, she made no attempt to erase the physical evidence of her emotions; these were happy tears. Tears of love. And she was glad to wear them like a coat of armor.

_I'd walk through fire for you_

_Walk through barbed wire for you_

_I'd walk for miles, it's true_

_Just to be with you_

This verse was true for both of them. There was nothing Santana wouldn't do to procure Brittany's happiness. If it meant letting her go so that she could fly, then painful as it was, Santana would. If it meant moving heaven, hell and earth, then Santana would do her damnest to see it carried out. No request was too outlandish or petty. As long as Santana could put a smile on Brittany's face, no order was impossible. The same could be said for Brittany. She knew she loved Santana more than anything else in the world. She would fly to the moon and back for the girl. If Santana wanted something, she'd try and try until she obtained it. No hurdle was too high to jump across if it meant being in Santana's arms at the end of the day.

There was a fourth musical interlude which replaced two lyrics that Santana told the band she would dismiss in favor of dancing with the blonde. She walked over and repeated her earlier action of holding out a hand for Brittany to take. The blonde took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be tugged out of her seat and into Santana's arms. Together, they slow danced across the floor, Santana gently twirling Brittany around on the spot before spinning her gracefully back into her arms. She heard her cue to start singing the next lines and gently slowed her and Brittany down so that they were simply swaying in each other's arms, their eyes locked onto each other's with an intensity that was felt by every occupant in the room. She leaned over and whispered the lyrics into Brittany's ear, wanting the blonde to carry out the next verse.

Brittany's heart melted into her stomach and she was suffused with so much warmth that it threatened to turn her legs into a quivering mess. When Santana's voice husked out the lyrics of the song into her ear, a silent request to sing them, her brain absorbed each word like a greedy sponge, as though it knew the significance of the moment between the two girls. Brittany stepped back a little but remained in the circle of Santana's arms. She watched for the brunette's cue to start singing then sang straight to Santana with utmost sincerity.

_Let the whole world know you will_

_Walk me down the middle of the county fair_

_Oh, walk me down the middle like you don't care_

Brittany could feel all eyes on them but safely cocooned in the loving circle of Santana's arms, it was as if their surroundings simply bled into a mess of colors. Lost in the intense swirl of the brunette's eyes, Brittany could almost feel as if they had created their own little world where nothing else mattered or existed besides her and Santana.

_Walk me by the Ferris wheel_

_And make sure they all see_

_Let the whole word know you belong to me_

There was deep rush of satisfaction when Brittany sang that line. She did want the whole world to know that Santana belonged to her. More importantly, she wanted the world to know that _she_ belonged to Santana. As the instruments crooned and serenaded the pair, winding the song down, Brittany leaned down and brushed her lips against Santana's, sealing their commitment and love for each other with a heartfelt kiss. They broke apart just in time to sing the last line together, their voices a perfect blend, just like their owners.

_You belong to me_

The instruments drew to a close and the room thundered with applause but Santana and Brittany paid them no mind. Locked in each other's embrace, they simply smiled at each other.

"I love you."

Blue eyes softened and one hand reached up to cup a soft cheek. This song had the pair come full circle; everything they went through, all that heartache and pain, the joy and the laughter. It was all for this feeling of completion and love that would forever be unrivaled. Brittany pressed her forehead against Santana's and whispered lovingly:

"I love you too."

**THE END**

**A/N 2 –** The song used is "Walk Me Down The Middle" by The Band Perry. When I heard this song, I could NOT get it out of my head. It fit Brittany and Santana so well for this story. It was like custom made for them, in my opinion. Such a brilliant song. So beautiful to listen to. I did tweak a few lyrics here and there but nothing too dramatic. Hope you liked it, and again thank you for reading!


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